


Slide

by thisonegoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Family Issues, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Divorce, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, definite slow burn, references to pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 87,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's dad explained it to him in a small speech, the day she was born. </p><p>"No one prepares you for it. There aren't any manuals. Sometimes being a good parent means simply keeping your kid alive. Keep them breathing, make sure they're safe, love them until you could burst with it. On days when everything feels especially hard, just remember that your kid is Number One. Everything else becomes secondary. Less than. Minuscule by default. And believe me when I tell you this: when she eventually paints you a picture, sings you a song, does a cartwheel... always be sure to clap. If you're proud, make sure to say so."</p><p>An AU about being a father, having faith, and growing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Puzzles, Jenga, and Other Two-Person Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilla/gifts).



> Lucy, this one's for you. Thank you for helping me shape the idea, and for giving me such great input so far. 
> 
> Jasmine, never leave me, or else I'll never be able to write fic ever again.
> 
> Enjoy :)

 ***

 

“For children, childhood is timeless. It is always the present. Everything is in the present tense. Of course, they have memories. Of course, time shifts a little for them and Christmas comes round in the end. But they don’t feel it. Today is what they feel, and when they say, ‘When I grow up,’ there is always an edge of disbelief—how could they ever be other than what they are?”

― Ian McEwan, The Child in Time

 

***

 

 

** September **

 

For about the hundredth time that morning, Zayn has the vague thought that if his mother could see him now, she’d curse at him for his nervous feet. She’d see him pacing with his hands in his hair, his anxious huffing and puffing, and say something like, “You’re going to burn a hole right through the floor if you keep that up.” Zayn, undeterred by the nonexistent scolding, continues to pace back and forth in his new living room.

The wood floor itself isn’t exactly new and the scuffs all along the baseboards make the place feel especially lived in, even in its open, empty glory. It’s a rather boring space, with its off-white walls and an off-white kitchen bathed in laminate pretending to be tile. The longer Zayn paces, cracking his knuckles, the longer he has to look at the walls and built-in shelves around him. Empty. Blank.

He also notices the indents and slight discoloration in the wooden slats that lead his path, towards the front window and then away from it. It gives him a rather sad idea: maybe he’s not the first man to walk this living room.

For all Zayn knows, tens of thousands of men just like him have lived in this shitty apartment, waiting and walking.

Or well, maybe not in _this_ living room specifically. But living rooms all over the world, just like this. Newly single men, the ones who either left or got kicked out, and now have to wait for the precious hours they’re allowed with their kids.

Zayn has to close his eyes then, too uncomfortable with that slightly philosophical melancholy thought, that as a human being he’s completely unoriginal, that his life now is just a series of Lifetime Original Movie scenes.

_You got someone pregnant. You married her because it was the right thing to do. You had a kid. You became a father. You weren’t very good at it. Your wife wised up and told you to leave. You moved into the cheapest apartment you could find. Your ex now holds all the cards. You get your daughter every other weekend and specific nationally recognized holidays. You will never go a day, ever again, where you don’t miss her._

Zayn exhales and cracks his neck, before finally opening his eyes to glance out the front window. It’s useless because it only leads into the small grassy courtyard of this new place further inland, into the other open windows of his neighbors. The complex is small, only eight units total, and all facing inward. He can’t see the street from here. He won’t find any early reprieve beyond the glass, no excited anticipation from seeing Rachel’s car pull up. He won’t get to watch Ev run to his door, her long hair flying, her little coat flapping in the wind. Maybe she won’t even want to run. Maybe she’s already forgotten him.

Just then, a man crosses in front of his window and makes his way to the door directly across from Zayn’s. He’s tall, lean, with wild hair Zayn once tried for. He had a disheveled phase towards the end of college, before he got married. Zayn doesn’t see his face, which is good, because he probably looks like a lunatic pacing there in his living room, in nothing but a pair of old ripped jeans. Zayn’s been told that he doesn’t make a good first impression, that his scowl and lip twitch and tattoos are “unbecoming.” Whatever the fuck that means. Rachel is an asshole.

Zayn notices the two paper bags in the man’s arms, the green leafy vegetables sticking out of the top of them. Milk. The tip of a bread bag. Groceries.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses to himself, angry, looking away.

If Rachel walks in and sees not only an empty apartment, but an empty fridge, she’ll most definitely grab Ev’s hand and take her right back home.

Before he can stress himself out about it further, another thing to add to his list of failures, a quick knock comes from the other side of the front door. Zayn turns and literally runs to it, throwing it open, the hinges whining.

“Daddy!”

Zayn doesn’t waste another second, grabbing for Evie before taking another breath. He doesn’t even take anything in, beyond the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her hair. Zayn hugs her close, squeezes her until she giggles into his neck, her little fingers at the base of his hair.

“Hi baby,” Zayn whispers to her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she says like it’s obvious, trying to push away a bit.

Evelyn Naadirah Malik. Born five years ago on July 11th just after sunrise, with a full head of hair and (Zayn swears it on his life) an honest to God smile. Seven pounds, five ounces. 20.5 inches long. Sometimes Zayn can’t help but rattle the stats off in his head, the bigger she gets. He just can’t get over it, that she was once a baby, his baby, so small he thought he’d break her.

Ev squirms a bit, as she looks over Zayn’s shoulder with her wide brown eyes, to see the empty room. Zayn won’t let her down though, holds her close, as he steps back and realizes that Rachel waits to be let in.

“Hey,” Zayn nods to his almost-ex-wife, holding the door.

“Hi,” Rachel says tightly with a nod.

Rachel follows Zayn into the room as he holds his one free arm out, to the wood floors and bright window, the cramped ceiling. It’s so different from their house, the house Rachel bought off her parents right after the wedding. They weren’t rich by any means, but they did all right for two stupid kids fresh out of college. A writer and an almost-lawyer. Ev hasn’t known anything other than that house. Zayn sees the pinch to Rachel’s eyebrows, at the change of scenery for her child.

Zayn has to bite his tongue, to keep himself from reminding her that she was the one who asked him to move out. At first they had agreed for Zayn to stay in the house for the months it could take to settle everything in the divorce, to sleep in the small guest room that Zayn now knows has already been converted into an office. But in the end, Rach said it was too hard, to have him there. To see their failures sitting with them at the dinner table, imposing on every half conversation they tried at.

So this is his new home. This is the best he can do at the moment, and on such short notice. The look he gives her says as much.

They’ve learned over the years, as Evie has gotten older, to say nothing and say everything at once, with their eyes. They won’t let her hear them fight. Ever.

“Daddy, is this your new house?” Ev asks, head swiveling to take it in.

“Sure is,” Zayn nods with a smile, their faces close. “It’s yours too, remember?”

“Because I have two houses now,” she nods back, before looking to Rachel.

“Two houses and two rooms,” Rachel says with an excited smile and a clap to her hands. “And you can bring whichever toys you want to daddy’s, remember?”

Suddenly Evie must remember, because her eyes light up and she squirms to fully get out of Zayn’s arms. She lands on her feet and rushes the few steps to Rachel to grab for her purple bag, the one with the stars and planets all over it. Zayn’s parents bought it for her birthday a few weeks back. She babbles about her new doctor’s kit, and how she has bandages in it now, for “injawries.”

Zayn can’t help but smile down at her, nodding and praising in all the right places as she pulls out all the fake medical supplies. Rachel knows their daughter and can always distract her in the right way. It’s actually a sight to behold, how quick and how often she can divert Ev’s attention to something fun or important. To get the focus away from the tension her parents often carry around like luggage.

The first fights they used to have, the ones where Rachel would be in tears and Zayn would pace their kitchen for hours, were the most productive time in Ev’s early development. It’s the main reason she knows all her colors and shapes.

Zayn tells Ev to explore a bit, to look around, so she hauls her bag on her little shoulder, as Zayn reaches for her long curly hair, so it doesn’t get caught. She smiles at him and then runs off. They hear her calling out from each new room, about how “big” it is.

“Is her room done?” Rachel levels him with a look.

“Almost.”

“How almost is almost?”

“I painted. And have the furniture set up,” Zayn frowns.

“Do you have sheets on the bed? You need sheets.”

“I know I need sheets, Jesus,” Zayn crosses his arms and steps away. He decorated Ev’s room the way he knew she’d like it, and the squeal he hears from down the hall indicates she’s seen it. Sure, there are a few things to still get, and okay, he needs to buy sheets. He’ll go to Target or something. That was on his list for the day.

“Car seat?” Rachel practically reads his mind, anticipating the shopping he’ll have to get done. He had to get a car, now that he couldn’t just have a motorcycle and Rach’s car to fall back on when he needed to take Ev somewhere.

“Yes, Rachel. I have a car seat,” Zayn says with a grit to his teeth. “I have everything necessary to keep my kid alive, okay? A car, a car seat. Bed, dishes, groceries, doctor numbers, medicine. No tree nuts, no smoke in the house.”

Rachel knows he’s lying for about half of those things, but she just shakes her head and lets it go. Zayn realizes she’s wearing one of her favorite tops today, the black one that’s sheer over the top of her chest. Suddenly Zayn is reminded of her wedding dress, how it was sheer at the top as well, to highlight the beautiful plane of skin there. She made sure to wear her long brown hair up in a loose bun, so Zayn could see her “décolletage” as she called it, his favorite body part on a woman, there below delicate collarbones. “You’re marrying into a French family, Zayn. That’s what you have to call it! I’m wearing it for you!” she said.

Zayn suspects it wasn’t ever for him though, and was instead there to call attention up and away from her swelling belly.

Zayn shakes his head. Why the fuck is he remembering her wedding dress now?

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I want her home for dinner, and she needs to get ready for school Monday.”

Zayn nods and looks to his bare feet. Suddenly it feels chilly in the apartment, his bare chest exposed and prickling. He hates that this big life change has happened right before her first year of school, the first weekend before kindergarten. He hates that “home for dinner” won’t be here, with him, ever again. He also begrudgingly knows it must kill Rachel to not have her daughter home and safe with her. Zayn would feel sorry for her, if he didn’t have to live without Ev almost every day himself.

Zayn almost maliciously says something like, “See, it’s not so fun to face the day without your kid. Thanks a fucking lot.”

But he doesn’t. Because Rachel is a good parent. The better parent, really. And he can barely hold a candle to her. If Rach can even get out the door without Evie crying for her, it’ll be a miracle. Zayn frowns as they both anticipate that reaction, and brace for it.

Just then, Evie runs back into the living room, now empty handed.

“Momma, it’s purple!” she says with a smile, leaping into Rachel’s arms. “It’s purple and there are stars on the ceiling, big blue ones!”

“Oh I’m so happy,” Rachel bounces her a few times, their noses touching. “Your daddy loves you so much, doesn’t he?”

Evie nods and smiles.

“He made your room so pretty. Are you excited to sleep in it tonight?”

“Yes,” she nods harder, her hair flying. “You should sleep here too. Let’s sleep in there together, and tell stories.”

Zayn steps away and looks towards the front window, as Rachel starts whispering to her. Zayn read a book once that said parents need to make sure to create their own safe spaces with their children, separately. He promptly tries to ignore the sniffles and crying coming from the girls, and looks out through the glass to the courtyard. The man in the identical living room across from his has lit a few candles. It looks cozy. Safe. Like a real home.

“Tell mommy bye,” Rachel says a bit louder, hugging Ev to her chest.

“Bye mommy,” Ev says pathetically, her voice laced with pure sorrow, an emotion Zayn is convinced only children can achieve. It rips something resembling a crater in Zayn’s heart, maybe in one of his lungs, to hear his daughter so sad.

It feels like it’s his fault, like he’s the bad guy for taking Ev away from her mother. It feels unnatural and unfair.

“Go tell daddy you love him, yeah? How about you go give him a big hug? And make sure to remind him to button your coat, right? Go hug him,” Rachel whispers as she steps away.

For a brief moment, Zayn looks up and anticipates the gut-wrenching sight of his daughter shaking her head, saying no, and begging to go back to her real home. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe she’s too young to have this sort of disruption to her life. Maybe Zayn was never good at this to begin with, not by himself, and maybe she deserves to be happy in her rightful bedroom. She should be tucked into her mother’s embrace, far away from Zayn who doesn’t even know what sheets to buy her.

But Evie wipes her nose on the sleeve of her black coat and walks to him, her arms already opening for the hug. He can’t help the exhale he lets out, as he picks her up and hugs her tightly against his chest. She wraps her legs around him and he suspects it’s more so for his sake. She whispers she loves him, does as she’s told, and reminds him about the buttons. He always has to be reminded about the buttons.

“Bye baby,” Rachel says with a smile/wince combo. “You can call me whenever you want, remember?”

“How about we call mom tonight before bed?” Zayn says to Ev, nodding so she’ll follow along.

“Okay.”

Rachel kisses her own fingers and waves to them both, before quickly exiting the apartment. She rarely lets Evie see her get emotional. They silently watch her go, until it’s just the two of them in that empty space, staring at a door with cracked white paint.

They’re officially alone. Evelyn officially has almost-divorced parents. Two bedrooms. Two beds. A dad without a clue.

Zayn eventually feels the tiny nudge to his cheek, as he comes back to himself and looks down at his daughter’s heart shaped face.

“Don’t be sad, daddy,” Evie frowns at him.

“I’m not sad,” Zayn smiles big and bright. “I’m so happy you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”

Evie pokes at his upper lip, like she doesn’t quite believe the smile he’s slapped on. Maybe in her mind, it’s only been a few days since he’s seen her, hours even, and her expression is almost pitying. If that’s even possible for a five year old. But she doesn’t realize that it’s been three weeks, three full fucking weeks since Zayn has seen her, and it’s been the hardest three weeks of his life. They didn’t want her to see him packing, or leaving, or signing paperwork that says she’ll primarily live with her mom now. So she and Rachel stayed with Rachel’s sister for a bit, up in Connecticut for a little vacation. Must’ve been beautiful this time of year.

Three weeks is too long. He can’t go that long again, he refuses. He tightens his grip and smiles again.

“What do you want to do today? Let’s do whatever you want,” Zayn says.

Ev blows the hair out of her face and hugs him around the neck.

“Let’s get some blankets and pillows,” she replies with a smile, because her father is an idiot. “And maybe a snack.”

Zayn almost laughs, at how fucking smart his kid is.

“Alright, alright,” he sets her down, ready to go into his bedroom to grab a shirt and shoes. “Let’s do that.”

 

***

 

Evelyn Malik isn’t one to be sad for long. It’s just not how she’s wired, bless her. Once Zayn gets her in the car and they’re on their way to the mall, she forgets all about being sad without her mom, and babbles about her new room.

Even without the finishing touches, Zayn knows she loves her room. Never let it be said that Zayn doesn’t know his daughter, because he knows her better than he knows anyone. He knows her likes and dislikes. Her favorite color is purple. She won’t eat anything green. Her favorite foods are yellow: corn, bananas, vanilla frosting. She wants to be a doctor. Or a singer. “Maybe both.” She knows how to spell her name, and she knows Zayn has the letters E and V tattooed on two of his left knuckles.

But there are some things Zayn doesn’t know about her, and it’s terrifying. He definitely didn’t know how often she likes to run off when in crowded shopping centers, for one. Zayn almost had a coronary when he looked up from the towels in Macy’s, and couldn’t find her. He ended up holding her hand so tightly after that, she whined about not being a baby. The woman who helped Zayn buy the bed sheets, with a knowing look in her eye, winked at Ev and told her how grown up she looked, so that helped.

He also didn’t know how restless she gets when Zayn can’t get the key in the door once they get back to the apartment. He tries to hold all the bags in his hands, full of bedding, towels, and toiletries. The grocery bag in his left arm almost topples right over, all the ingredients for his mom’s chicken tikka masala mere seconds from spilling onto the bricks beneath them. Zayn isn’t used to having Evie entirely on his own, without a wife to hold her hand, or assist with the door. It’s almost unbelievable that this is the first time Zayn’s ever done it alone, and more than anything else, it bums him out. Zayn needs about six arms now, doesn’t he.

“Daddy, watch me!”

“Hold on,” Zayn tries to say, his voice muffled by the wallet currently between his teeth. The lock refuses to turn, so he jiggles the key harder.

Ev goes around him in a circle, her little shoes clicking in such a way so he knows she’s skipping.

“Do you need some help?” says a voice over Zayn’s shoulder, coming from the walkway that leads from the parking stalls behind their building.

Just then, a phantom hand reaches up and makes Zayn go cross-eyed, as it removes the wallet from his mouth. Zayn steps back and tries to lick his lips, so he doesn’t drool all over himself, as the man comes into view.

Neighbor man, with his long hair and green eyes. He smiles at Zayn and maneuvers around him, so he can reach for the set of keys Zayn almost drops. Evelyn, to her credit, runs right over to Zayn and grips his leg. They look at the stranger with matching expressions, slight awe and wonderment, their almond Malik eyes assessing him. He opens Zayn’s door and gestures inside, so Zayn does as directed and shuffles past him.

“Your door must be like mine: sticks a tad, whenever it’s least convenient.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” Zayn says, dropping the bags down to his feet, grabbing for his wallet. Ev stays close and stares at the handsome stranger in her new house.

“Hello,” the man says to her with a slight smile, easy as anything. “I’m Harry.”

Zayn doesn’t have all the parental instincts Rachel seems to have been born with, but he’s not stupid. This he knows, this he understands, deep in his gut. He shakes his head and fully steps in front of his daughter, purposefully drawing the stranger’s eyes up to his own. _I didn’t invite you in. Don’t talk to my kid._

“Zayn Malik,” he says, dropping his name like it weighs something, face serious.

This stranger, Harry, must get it. He steps back as his cheeks go pink, at his own presumptuousness.

“Sorry, I’m Harry Styles,” he nods politely, offering his hand. “I live across from you, just over there. I’m pretty new here too, actually.”

Zayn just nods.

“Freshly here from San Diego. Thought it might be nice to live on the east coast again for a while. Have seasons again, you know. Rain. Snow.”

Zayn nods again politely.

“Snow is too cold,” Ev says from behind Zayn, in that firm “it’s a fact” way she has. She steps around him, bored at being left out. She’s Rachel’s daughter, through and through. “I’m Evelyn.”

“Well Evelyn, I like snow,” Harry says to her, hands behind his back. His shirt must be missing a few buttons, with the way his chest practically explodes out of it. Zayn catches the ink here and there, the birds and faint lines creeping up from his sternum, like antennae or whiskers.

“I don’t,” Ev says.

“But it’s so fun to play in.”

“No. It’s too cold.”

“But what about ‘Frozen?’” Harry scoffs.

“Still. Too cold,” Ev shrugs. She liked the movie, but she didn’t shit her pants over it. She eyes Harry like the grown ass man he is, and very nearly rolls her eyes.

Zayn has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He loves how sure Ev can be, when it comes to things she loves or hates. It shows gumption. Decisiveness. He envies that quality, the way she can decide something for herself so quickly. All Rachel.

“Alright. That’s fair. It is very cold and you seem smart. You’re probably way smarter than me, so maybe you’re right.”

He smiles at her and Ev just blinks a few times, surprised at the praise.

Another quality she certainly didn’t get from Zayn, is her ability to befriend people. Quickly. Resolutely.

She steps closer to Harry, even when Zayn puts his hand on her shoulder to keep her close.

“I like fall, because fall has leaves that crunch. And you get to jump in big piles of them.”

“Fall is good. Fall means football. But spring has leaves too, only they’re brand new and green again,” Harry offers, like he’s some sort of teacher. “And the flowers come back.”

“And summer has the beach!” Ev says excitedly, getting closer. “I like sand and making castles.”

“Sand castles are my _favorite_ ,” Harry slaps his hands to his chest, like he’s eating his favorite dessert right there in front of them. “And crabbing! That’s always fun.”

“What’s crabbing?” Ev steps closer, eyes wide.

Harry crouches down and gapes at her.

“You’ve never been crabbing? Oh, you have to go crabbing. You go on a boat and you drop a net, to catch all the crabs you want, and you eat them for days.”

Harry mimics with his hand, a couple of crabs crawling around on the floor, as Ev watches.

“I’ve never had one of those.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Harry shakes his head. “You live in Maryland, you should have crabs coming out of your ears.”

Evelyn giggles so hard at that, she almost falls against Harry. He catches her just in time and sets her up straight, before getting to his feet. Zayn doesn’t have any alarm bells going off, not anymore, but Harry must sense it’s time for him to go.

“Next time I buy some crabs, you can have one,” Harry nods to her complacently as he stands up. “They’re delicious.”

“Okay!”

Zayn reaches for her and picks her up, as Harry steps to the door. If Zayn knew it was that easy to get his kid excited to try a new food, he would’ve pretended to be a lamb years ago.

“Daddy, can Harry stay for dinner?” Ev asks with excited eyes, not ready for her new friend to leave yet.

Zayn’s mind flashes to _but you just got here, I want you all to myself, this is my time with you, not Harry’s._ And then it dips even more diplomatically to _I don’t even have a table for us to sit at, this isn’t a home yet, I’m failing, aren’t I._

Zayn frowns.

“Ah, I wish I could,” Harry says like a saint. “But I actually have to go to work.”

“Next time,” Zayn says more to Evie than to Harry.

“Next time,” Harry agrees.

Harry is halfway across the courtyard, his own keys in his hand for his front door, when Zayn remembers. As he shuts his door, he calls out to Harry the stranger.

“Thanks for your help!”

Harry half-smiles, with a dimple the size of a crater to show off, and waves.

Later, as they eat their mostly burned dinner on the kitchen floor, another thing Zayn isn’t used to doing on his own, Ev asks Zayn if he too likes the snow or if he thinks it’s too cold.

Zayn admits that even though snow is cold and wet, it is fun to play in. Ev shrugs at that, like she needs more time to think it over.

But then in the bathtub an hour after that, she says a snowman might be nice, or a snow fort to play in. She’d need a bigger coat, and maybe some boots, if she ever decided to play in the snow. She hasn’t decided for sure yet, but as she splashes around in the lavender scented bubbles, she asks Zayn if he likes to make snow angels.

Zayn has to bite back his smile. He rinses her hair with an old plastic cup he found in a box he haphazardly packed. She babbles more, and he can’t help but smile.

Because his kid may be like Rachel in so many important ways. She knows what she wants. She makes hard and fast decisions. But she’s his daughter right then, in that bathtub, as she wonders about the wintertime and how pretty snowflakes are.

“Snow is pretty, isn’t it, daddy?”

She doesn’t seem as against snow as she did earlier that day.

And that right there, the way Ev can change her mind and open up to new possibilities even when it’s hard to grasp at first, that’s all Zayn.

He looks around at his almost empty bathroom, in his empty apartment, and sighs. He takes in the new towels hanging on the hook by the door, the new pink rug near the toilet, and smiles.

Zayn can’t help it, so he leans over his daughter and kisses her nose.

 

***

 

They have a great fucking Sunday, if Zayn does say so himself. He made sure to get Ev’s favorite cereal the day before, so they eat Lucky Charms on her bedroom floor in their pajamas (nightgown for her, sweats for him). In between bites, Ev explains how she’s going to take his temperature so Zayn doesn’t get sick, and puts a bandage on his upper arm, over his tiger tattoo because Mr. Tiger looked a little sick already.

Zayn also shows her how he bought special paint for one of her bedroom walls, for her to do whatever she wants with it, any scene she’d like. Ev loves to be outside so she chooses a “pretty park,” with grass, flowers, and trees. Zayn puts her on his shoulders so she can reach the top corners of the room, for the swirling green leaves, and paints a few birds in the sky while he’s there. The cleanup is a mess, which Ev revels in, and Zayn’s pretty sure they’ll both have paint in their hair for weeks.

He feeds her a banana for a snack, cut up because she likes eating with utensils, and then ends up with his nails sloppily painted. Bright red, because according to Ev, “red means fire and mommy says we’re fiery.”

Rachel knocks on the door promptly at four, right as Zayn comes skidding around the corner into the living room. He figured since his place was furniture-less, besides for Ev’s room and the blow-up mattress in his, they might as well utilize the space for now. So Rach walks in right as Ev sends a soccer ball flying precariously towards her. She ducks right in time, with an annoyed smile meant only for Zayn.

Ev shows Rach her room again, with its new bedding and paint, and Rach actually smiles at Zayn. He did good. And even when they used to fight all the time, she never hesitated to admit when he did good.

And then Zayn gets thrown for a loop, as he hands Rach the purple bag with stars on it, all of Ev’s clothes and belongings tucked in safe. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself, when Ev tugs on his jeans and looks up at him with big eyes.

He sees it happening, the tug of emotions on her little face. She likes this new place because it’s fun. She loves her new room, the way Zayn got a nightlight that sent fairies dancing across the ceiling, and the paint and the little pink rug shaped like a heart. But she loves her other room, her real room, where she’s always safe with her mom, and Zayn isn’t going with her.

“Daddy,” she says, confused, not understanding her feelings.

Zayn’s heart cracks down the center as he lifts her up into his arms.

“I know, baby,” he mumbles against her temple. He expected her to be sad when Rachel left her the day before, but maybe he didn’t expect the same emotion in return.

“Are you gonna come home soon?” Ev asks, her fingers playing with his hoodie strings.

“This is my house now, yeah?” Zayn tries to smile. “You have a mommy house and a daddy house now.”

“But why can’t you be at both houses?” she says, her lip quivering.

Zayn doesn’t know what to say. He looks to Rachel for help. Rach is good with help.

“Daddy can come to the house whenever he wants, Evie,” Rach comes up behind her, to kiss her cheek. They stand together, Zayn and Rach holding on for dear life, to their little tether. “How about dinner this week, hmm?”

“Dinner, yes. Any night you want,” Zayn nods, kissing Ev’s other cheek.

“Okay,” she sniffs sadly.

“And I’m gonna see you at school tomorrow! First thing! I’ll be there and we’ll go see your new classroom together.”

“And then you’ll come home for dinner?” Ev rubs at her eye.

“Yes.”

“And mommy eats with us too, right?”

“Of course,” Rachel kisses her cheek again.

Rachel ends up peeling her out of Zayn’s arms. Evie’s a good girl; she doesn’t put up a fight, and goes willingly. But as the two of them walk out of Zayn’s front door, she looks back at him over Rachel’s shoulder. And she doesn’t smile. Zayn stands in the courtyard and tries to wave, to give her a silly grin, but it doesn’t work.

And then they’re gone.

Zayn loses it a bit, kicking at the door frame with angry tears in his eyes.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses to himself. He hits his forehead against it, twice, so fucking angry that Ev is sad and he’s the reason and he can’t stop it.

He can’t even see her. All he wants is her, to be near her, to keep her safe, and now he lives six miles from her real house. It’s not fucking fair.

This isn’t where Zayn envisioned himself at all. This isn’t what he saw, when he held up a Magic Eight Ball in the second grade and asked with all his might. He was supposed to be successful by now, twenty-seven and living the life. Single, maybe with a hot girl on his arm, writing for some new website that paid him per word, in some hipster office he’d make fun of, but secretly love.

He wasn’t supposed to be broke and working from home now since the breakup, so he could be close to the house. He shouldn’t be scrambling to write for about eight different websites to make ends meet. Divorced. If he’s honest with himself, he never really saw himself as a dad at all, and certainly not one without a fucking mattress, miserable over his custody rights, or lack thereof.

But now he is a dad, and it’s fucking awful and beautiful at the same time, dueling forces of _I love you so much it aches_ and _I can never truly keep you in my eyesight and safe and that’s terrifying._

Zayn has the itch for a cigarette. No, he has the itch for a bottle of Jack, actually. He bangs his head against the door frame a few more times, to really make it hurt, when he hears a throat being cleared.

He looks up and there’s Harry, in a mirrored position in his own doorway, a few feet from Zayn.

“You okay?” he gestures to the walkway leading towards the front of the building. He must’ve heard the end of it, Ev’s sad little goodbye and Zayn’s harsh words for himself.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Zayn croaks out, with a harsh nod that gives all of his emotions away. He tries to wipe at his face quickly, so Harry can’t see.

Harry just tilts his head.

“It’s just, uh like… this is the first time," Zayn says wetly, picking at the red polish on his thumb angrily. "Like, for us to share her. For her to come here, and then have to leave.”

Zayn looks down at his bare feet, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m making food,” Harry offers, pushing off his door frame to open up the space. “And I have beer?”

Zayn sniffs one last time and tries to smile. Beer is good.

Zayn can do beer.

 

***

 

It doesn’t get easier after that. Ev was so happy to see Zayn the next morning as he rode up to her new school on his motorcycle. She hugged him like she hadn’t seen him in weeks, and walked into her new school like she owned the place, her hands held by both of her parents. Zayn couldn’t help but be thrilled for her, not at all shy or nervous.

But then he went to the house for dinner that night, and after some lasagna, Ev wouldn’t let him go. She clung to him so hard, and cried into his shoulder so softly, Zayn had to close his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see it.

They tried dinner a few more times throughout the week, and it never got better. Ev didn’t understand why Zayn had to keep leaving. And in a quiet fit of rage, over Ev’s perfect head of hair, Zayn hissed to Rachel, “I’m not doing this again.”

So instead of leaving right after dinner, he gave her a bath and read her a story. He put Ev to bed alone that night, kissed her cheeks over and over so she wouldn’t cry herself to sleep, and slipped out of the room as soon as her breathing leveled.

“I’ll sleep on your fucking couch for the rest of my fucking life,” Zayn spat out at Rachel, anger licking at his heels as he stomped through the main floor of the house. If he didn’t know any better, he was that asshole freshmen again, the one Rachel met one night after he punched a wall and told some racist moron to go fuck himself. “I’ll fucking live here in the basement if I have to, and you can’t make me leave.”

It was, admittedly, irrational and uncalled for.

He cooled off the next night, and over dinner, they tried to explain to Ev again that just because Zayn didn’t live in the house anymore, didn’t mean he was going away forever. Ev nodded like she understood, but she still stomped her way up the stairs afterwards, angry with the both of them.

So Zayn shouldn’t be surprised when it’s Friday and he gets a call from Rachel. She informs him that it’s not right for Evelyn to be as upset as she’s been. It’s not healthy for her to be crying all over him every night of the week, and that they need to stick to the arranged custody agreement. Zayn gets her every other weekend. That’s their plan.

Ev needs to learn how life works, without Zayn showing up day after day on his bike, only to leave a few hours later. She needs a routine. She needs to get used to it.

Zayn hangs up on her and almost throws his phone against the bare wall to his left.

He drops his head to his hands on his new secondhand couch, because as ass-backwards as it sounds, it’s only fair. The more he tries to cling to her, and the old routine, the harder it’s going to get. He can’t let his daughter cry anymore. If he keeps going over to the house for dinner and bedtime, it won’t prevent Ev from forgetting him. It’ll just make her sad when he leaves, or worse, when he can’t go at all.

But Zayn is still stubborn and a dick and selfish, so he gets up and grabs his phone, keys, and helmet.

He goes for a long ride around the neighborhood, before it gets too crisp to enjoy it, and then comes home. He knocks on Harry’s door before he can question it further.

 

***

 

Harry the stranger is a good host. The night Zayn had to let Ev go for the first time, it was mostly just the two of them sitting around, drinking beer, and watching Netflix. Zayn couldn’t help but be polite, and ate the salad Harry made, even though his appetite was shot to shit. Harry told Zayn some more about himself, to fill the awkward silences. He’s from LA, a health nut, and a weirdo with a Peter Pan complex (which he knows, because he was a therapy kid from the time he could process puberty and his step-daddy issues). That got a laugh out of Zayn, which Harry preened over. He’s funny, albeit a bit of a slow-talker, with kind eyes.

Zayn listened and tried to keep up. But in the end, he drank six beers in quick succession, while Harry only had two. He thanked Harry profusely as he stumbled home an hour later.

But tonight, the night leading into his first Evie-less weekend, Zayn doesn’t want to watch a documentary on the horrors of the dairy industry. He wants to be the one to lay his life out, the one to fill the silences and talk.

“She’s my kid, you know?” Zayn laments drunkenly, his head propped in one hand there at Harry’s kitchen table. Zayn still doesn’t have a table. He needs one. Ev needs somewhere to eat her breakfast.

“Yeah,” Harry frowns, even though he doesn’t know.

“Like, how is it fair that I only get her _four_ fucking days out of the month? How is that right? It’s not like I’m a fucking alcoholic, or smuggling cocaine across the border. I’m a good person.”

“You are,” Harry nods, clinking his beer against Zayn’s. “I can tell.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Zayn hangs his head, as the cigarette tucked behind his ear falls near his hand. He should eat something. “I’m not your problem. You don’t even know me. I should go.”

He should absolutely go call one of his friends, or his mom back home in Delaware, or even his little cousin who has no idea what it means to be an adult yet. Lucky bastard. What he really should do is call Rachel back and apologize. But that’s neither here nor there.

“You became my problem the second I let you in here, my friend,” Harry says like he never had a choice. “And I’m good for this kind of thing, you’ll see. Let’s get your mind off it.”

Zayn looks up at him, at the green eyes a few inches from his own, slightly watery from the drinks they’ve had. But they’re clear and open and really pretty, actually. Zayn’s never thought a man had pretty features before. Zayn doesn’t really describe anything as “pretty” but he has a little girl who calls everything pretty, so maybe it’s part of his vocabulary now, whether he likes it or not.

Harry is pretty. Attractive. And he’s really nice, to let Zayn come over like this, to eat and talk and listen to the music Harry’s been producing, so Zayn can forget about his miserable life for a few hours.

Zayn blinks, realizing he hasn’t responded to Harry yet.

“How?”

Harry smiles at him, slowly like they have a secret between them.

“You’re going to laugh at me,” Harry warns him. “And it’ll take us some time. We’re really going to have to work at it. Put some hours in. But I swear it works.”

It’s a bit startling, but Zayn enjoys a challenge.

“Alright,” Zayn levels him, ready for it. “Try me.”

And that’s how, for almost the entire weekend, Zayn and Harry work on a massive 1,000 piece puzzle there on Harry’s dining table. Apparently Harry collects puzzles and board games. He says they relieve stress. And wouldn’t you know it, he has a new one that’s perfect for Zayn’s shitty situation. It’s a city landscape of Seattle, a place Harry lived for a year right out of school, and it’s all greens, blues, and greys. Zayn doesn’t have anything else to do, no work or pieces to write over the weekend, so he throws his hands up and vows to forget it all.

That’s also how, through hours of vaguely torturous, monotonous puzzle piece searching, Zayn comes to terms with his situation. Without even realizing the Jedi Mind Trick Harry uses on him, Zayn tells Harry the whole story. How he got married and why. Ev and her birth. How fucking hard it was at first. How he really, truly never understood how hard it could be. He tells Harry, as they search for the corner pieces, that they never tell you how hard it is those first few weeks, the lack of sleep, the near-daily freak outs of, “Holy shit, I’m responsible for another human being, how could anyone think I’m qualified for this?”

Harry laughs at that like he can’t help it, since it’s not something he’d ever wish for himself, “because I love kids, I swear, but hell no. No offense.”

“None taken,” Zayn snorts. He loves Ev. He’d literally die for her. But he wouldn’t wish this shit on his worst enemy, now that he’s lived it.

They have some vodka well into the night, and he gets a little misty when he tells Harry about the little life they had, when it was good. Zayn shows him some of his favorite pictures of Ev, since he has about a million on his phone. The two of them eating peas before she could talk and refused to eat them. Her walking, running, jumping into Zayn’s arms. A video of her singing an old Styx song. A few from Monday, of her first day of school, holding his hand. Rachel putting lipstick on her for the first time, red because the Maliks are fiery.

But that can’t save a marriage, the mutual love of two people for their child. It can’t change the fact that at the end of the day, they aren’t compatible and they were never in love, not really, not deep down where it counts. Zayn tells Harry how they ended up being so unhappy. And for Ev’s sake, it had to be fixed.

No one prepares you for divorce either, taking the ring off, what it means to go from married to single in a day’s time, once your wife says, “I can’t do this anymore.”

No one prepares you for the separation from your child. How much it fucking hurts, how it feels some mornings when Zayn wakes up and eats breakfast alone now, only to remember he won’t see Evelyn for days upon days. How some nights it feels like he’s literally bleeding, it hurts so bad.

But then after a few more beers on Saturday afternoon, Harry leads Zayn to water, asking about where Zayn sees himself now that he’s on his own. Zayn knows he can do this, eventually, once they get the mechanics of the shitty schedule down.

And he admits that Rachel is a good person, a good mother. She’s not _always_ an asshole, or the evil witch keeping Zayn’s daughter away from him. She’s trying her best, the same as Zayn. She just wants what she’s always wanted: for Zayn to try harder.

Zayn wants Ev to be so happy, she bursts with it. So with Harry’s quiet insistence, Zayn calls Rach and says he’s sorry for the outburst. He hears the telltale click of the closet door, Rach’s hiding place so Ev won’t hear their conversations. Zayn hates that, that he’s the one who forces Rachel to hide away, lest his daughter hear his anger over the line. Harry smiles at him and gives a thumbs up, as Zayn apologizes a second time.

And it’s with a swallow to his pride as he agrees to the routine. He says he’ll try to get his shit together. She sighs, with a hand probably over her forehead, and tells him she sure hopes so. Zayn rolls his eyes at that, because Rachel can still sort of be an asshole when she wants to be.

That Sunday night, Harry and Zayn drunkenly finish the puzzle. Harry lifts up the last piece and holds it above them like they’re in “The Lion King.” Zayn even sings the opening song, “Circle of Life’s” them as Harry punches in the final jagged edge of the city sky.

In celebration of Seattle’s skyline finished there on the table, Harry insists they look up the weather forecast, to pray for rain. They end up in a Google spiral, watching videos of weather bloopers, and laugh so loudly, their neighbors must hate them for it. But Harry was right: it gets Zayn’s mind off of the crippling fear that he’s ruining his daughter’s life, and over the hump.

And wouldn’t you know, the next morning, Zayn rolls over on his air mattress and looks out of his bedroom window to see it cloudy with moisture.

Zayn texts Harry a string of umbrellas.

 

***

 

** October **

 

Zayn wakes up with a low groan. His back aches and as he stretches his arms over his head, he hears a few distinct cracks. If this were a few years ago, he’d probably be piecing together the night before. _Where was I, how did I get home, did I fall and hurt myself, am I still drunk?_

And if it were a few months ago, maybe he’d still be piecing the night before together, but with a much tamer thought process. _Did I lift Evie and throw my back out, did I pull something putting up a picture in her room, did I fall over during a game?_

But like every morning lately, it’s simple.

“I need a fucking mattress,” Zayn grumbles to himself, as he squirms and feels the hardwood under his tailbone. The air mattress he’s been sleeping on slowly deflates overnight, from air pressure and weight, so by the time he slaps at his alarm, he’s always ass-to-floor. His back is sure to be fucked.

From there, Zayn runs through the motions. In no time at all, he takes a piss, brushes his teeth, and showers. Then it’s a quick wash to a bowl and a spoon from his overflowing sink to eat some Lucky Charms, before settling at his desk.

Evie’s room takes up the second bedroom of the apartment, so Zayn’s makeshift office had to be shoved in the living room. It’s pleasant enough though, to have the light streaming in from the open window leading to the courtyard, and truthfully, it’s nice to be near a TV when he needs a break. It still sits awkwardly on the floor, in the corner, until he can get something to set it on. But that’s for another day.

He has two daily deadlines, for ARJ.com and The Breakneck, and a few assignments coming up for The Baltimore Sun. It’s taken him a few weeks to get used to working from home instead of in an office or newsroom. So he tries to answer emails quickly, to get his head on straight. He used to work so well in crowded spaces, with white noise buzzing around him. Now he works in almost complete silence, and it’s still a bit unsettling.

But he has to power through. He gets Evie tomorrow, for the whole weekend, finally. And he has to be ready for her. He has to work and clean up a bit, pick up the chairs for the new kitchen table, and a rug for the hallway.

As if by some retched miracle, his phone buzzes with a text from Rach, reminding him that he has Evie until Sunday night.

Zayn grits his teeth and replies politely, that yes, he knows what time the girls will be there tomorrow. As if he could forget. He shoves his phone in his pocket and cracks his neck, before opening his laptop.

Just power through.

It’s Zayn’s new mantra.

 

***

 

Zayn and Drake sing a rather loud duet in the kitchen the next morning, as Zayn works his way around the kitchen with a wet paper towel. It’s his go-to music when he’s feeling especially happy or excited about something. Not even cleaning his tiny kitchen can get him down.

The bass booms from his iPod dock in the living room, as he scrubs near the sink. He can’t help but wiggle his hips a bit, his jeans riding a little low, his chest on full display. Zayn’s too adult and mature now to imagine what it’d be like to be a rapper, of course. He’s not some lame sixteen year old with a hairbrush. He does _not_ project his voice any louder to the wall over the sink, or smile as if it’s to a crowd, to pretend.

And yet, when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he almost has a heart attack.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Zayn exhales, knees practically buckling from surprise. He drops the paper towel and turns around, to see Rachel there in his kitchen, with Evie in her arms. Evie laughs wildly, but Rach just shakes her head.

“Shit,” he mumbles, hurrying for the remote to turn off the explicit lyrics. And then he says _shit_ in his head, for saying _shit_ out loud with Evie near, and he can practically feel his face heating up.

“Your music was too loud,” Rach says without blinking. “Didn’t hear us knock. And the door was open. Completely unlocked.”

Zayn almost says _shit_ again, but catches himself just in time.

“Daddy, I want to sing too!” Evie yells delightedly, launching herself from Rachel’s arms right into Zayn’s.

“Hi baby,” he laughs with her, overwhelmed to have her there in the flesh, his mind racing from the adrenaline kick and the joy to have her to himself. “I missed you so much.”

_Thank God you’re here. Baby Evelyn, little Evie, my baby, my Ev, Evelyn Naadirah Malik. Born five years ago on July 11 th just after sunrise, with a head of hair and a smile. Seven pounds, five ounces. 20.5 inches long. Mine mine mine._

It’s a quick exchange this time, something else they agreed upon, to not drag it out. It’s another thing Ev needs to get used to. So Rachel kisses her five times in a row, little smacks to her mouth, and says about thirty I love yous. Then there’s a promise to talk on the phone before bed, finished with the reminder to tell daddy to button her coat. Because Zayn always needs to be reminded to button her coat.

Rach doesn’t say much to Zayn, once he drops Ev and she goes running off to her new room. But she does eye the chairs still in boxes, the ones he still needs to put together in the kitchen, and the pile of books next to them, that he has to stack away.

It’s better when they don’t say much.

Once she’s gone, Zayn heads to Ev’s room, to see what toys she’s brought with her and to find out about her week at school. He listens and watches her talk, as she skips and plays and kisses his cheek over and over, like she’s missed him just as much. It’s like all of her tears and sadness over Zayn not being at the house are both forgotten. Kids really are resilient. Zayn has to keep tickling her, just to hear her laugh ringing through the apartment.

It ends up being one of the best Saturdays Zayn has ever had.

 

***

 

Evie wakes Zayn up by jumping right onto his chest, completely knocking the wind out of him. Apparently the air mattress looks like a trampoline, which Zayn has to half-heartedly scold her for. But then he tickles her, pulling her to his side, so he can blow raspberries across her cheeks.

Zayn isn’t exactly good at waking up early, which Rach and Ev both know and were so used to. So he asks for five more minutes, to rest his eyes. Ev allows him to doze for a solid twelve seconds before demanding breakfast.

They eat cereal and toast at the kitchen table, since Zayn stayed up for hours after Ev went to bed, putting the fucking chairs together. One wobbles a bit, but they’ll do. He also stacked the books onto the high hanging shelf that covers three of the four living room walls. Slowly but surely, the apartment has started to feel homier. It feels like a place he can be proud of, eventually. Once he gets some more furniture. And hangs a picture or two.

It doesn’t run as smoothly once Zayn picks up the call from Adam at the Sun, for a quick blurb to run first thing in the morning. It doesn’t happen often, Zayn having to work on Sundays, and of fucking course it happens during an Ev weekend.

Zayn runs a hand through his hair and watches Ev crawl around the floor near his desk, a Barbie car zooming up onto the rug and then under the armchair. She’s great at playing on her own, but he knows it won’t last much longer. She’ll start to pull on his hand, demand his attention, beg for him to color on her bedroom wall again.

“Zayn,” Adam tries to get his attention, sensing it waning. “I can give you three hours. Does that work?”

“Three?” Zayn winces. That’s not a lot of time, and Ev needs a snack and is supposed to learn a song for her music class the next morning. Zayn wanted to sing “Come Sail Away” with her, since it used to be her favorite, and now…

“That’s all I got,” Adam huffs, fingers probably hovering over the phone to make his next few calls to other always-on-call-because-they’re-broke freelancers.

“No, I can do it. Send me the info.”

About ten minutes later, as Zayn frantically tries to type away at his laptop, Ev calls for him. She stands with her little hands on her hips, her ponytail completely fallen out and cheeks pink.

“Daddy.”

“Ev, I need a few more minutes, then we can play,” Zayn tries, eyes flying from his screen, up to her little face. His glasses are smudged, he needs to clean them.

“But daddy…” she starts to whine.

“Just a few minutes.”

“Daddy.”

“Evelyn,” he looks at her sternly. “Sing me a song. Let’s practice.”

She sighs dramatically like her mother, and then flings herself onto the couch. Without a good prompt from Zayn, she sings her ABC’s and Twinkle Twinkle, before coming up with her own lyrics.

“I want to plaaay,” she yells out, her little voice carrying through the entire apartment. “I want to siiing my sooongs, daaad.”

Zayn tries to concentrate, to get through the stupid article he should’ve turned down. Sure, now he has rent and child support to cover every month, but it’s Ev’s day and it isn’t fair. The more she sings about him working and not playing with her, the worse he feels.

It must be the song that beckons Harry, because Ev doesn’t stop singing until she hears the knock at the door. Before Zayn can stop her, she’s off the couch and throwing the door open excitedly. Her yellow dress flaps around her from the crisp fall wind, so she does what Rach taught her and holds it in her little fingers down at her sides.

“Harry!”

“Hey toots,” Harry smiles at her, before meeting Zayn’s eyes.

“What’s a toots?” she scoffs.

“Comes from ‘The Three Stooges,’ I think,” Harry says, thinking it over.

“What?”

Harry thinks for a second longer.

“It’s another word for Evelyn.”

“Oh, okay,” she shrugs, grabbing for Harry’s hand and pulling him inside.

“I heard some singing and thought it might’ve been you.”

“Because _somebody_ won’t sing with me,” Ev looks over her shoulder at Zayn, like she’s disappointed. It’s a look Zayn decides then and there that he hates. It makes his stomach drop a bit, his shoulders fall, his mouth pinch. He knows he’s a disappointment, but he never wanted Ev to know.

“I just gotta finish this,” Zayn says more to himself, but loud enough for Harry to hear. “It’s last minute, I didn’t – I wouldn’t have volunteered to work today.”

Harry hears the _I wouldn’t be working with Ev here if I had a choice, I swear._ And he nods like he understands. They’ve hung out a few more times since the great Seattle Puzzle Weekend, just a few drinks here and there, but they have an understanding. They’re friends, sort of.

Harry looks at Zayn and must remember how Zayn phrased it once, that Ev was his Number One. He told Harry how once you have a kid, everything else becomes secondary. Less than. Minuscule by default. So when Zayn shoves his glasses further up his nose, sweating, typing away faster, he gets it.

“Hey Ev, how about we go play while dad works.”

Zayn’s head snaps up.

“I need a snack and I need a song for music class,” she says, eyes big as she looks up at the giraffe known as Harry Styles.

“Snack and a song,” Harry nods, with a clap to his hands. “We’re on it.”

Zayn mouths _thank you so much_ , and stands up. He gestures to his laptop like he’d enjoy nothing more than to pick it up and toss it over his shoulder. Harry actually giggles at that. Zayn’s stomach does something weird again.

“Shoes,” Zayn points to her Chuck Taylors by the door.

Ev always listens and starts to tug them on.

“Can you like,” Zayn steps closer to Harry as he scratches at the hair on his chin, “Can you leave your blinds and curtains open? So I can see her from my desk?”

“Absolutely,” Harry says.

“The song doesn’t have to be fancy or anything. Just something she can name to her teacher, and sing a few lines of to the class.”

“Got it.”

“Can we eat _two_ snacks, Harry?” Evelyn interrupts, stumbling over to them. This is only the second time she’s ever been around Harry, and as a five year old genius, she knows it’s the right time to see just how far she can push him, how many spoils she can collect. Zayn almost laughs. She’s so fucking smart.

“Sure, toots,” Harry grabs for her to pick her up. It’s a good thing too, since she can’t tie her shoelaces and they hang limply there alongside her pink shoes.

But then Zayn remembers.

“No tree nuts,” he warns, serious as hell. “Right, Ev? What do we say? No walnuts, hazelnuts, cashews, pistachios.”

It’s their list. Zayn knows it by heart. He could say The List in his sleep. He gives Harry a look that tells him to take it seriously. She won’t die or go into anaphylactic shock if she has a tree nut, but it can cause a pretty nasty rash. Or hives. And Ev with hives all over her tiny little body is probably the worst sight Zayn can imagine at the moment. Not to mention, Rachel would murder him and bury him in her manicured back garden before anyone even knew he was missing.

“Got it,” Harry nods, also serious.

Ev does a little dance in Harry’s arms as they head towards the front door, and waves to Zayn with both hands over Harry’s broad shoulders

“Be good,” Zayn whispers. “Say please and thank you. Tell Harry if you want to come home.”

“Bye daddy!” she ignores him.

Zayn waves, but they don’t notice it. Harry skips across the courtyard and jostles Ev like he’s about to drop her until she’s crying with laughter.

And then Zayn sits at his desk, typing away for the next three hours, in full view of his daughter there in Harry’s living room.

 

***

 

“Just had to show me up then, didn’t you,” Zayn muses, crossing his arms.

Harry nudges him with his elbow, as they sit on Zayn’s couch and wait patiently for Ev to be ready “in costume.” They can hear her banging around in her room down the short hallway to their left, yelling out random gibberish because she’s too excited for words.

“You said to teach her a song,” Harry bites his lip with a smile.

“And by that I meant like, a nursery rhyme or something. Not a full song with a fucking performance to go with it.”

“She’s theatrical. I’m theatrical. What can I say? Go big or go home.”

He shrugs, the cocky little shit, and strums the beat up-ukulele he brought with him. Zayn should’ve known that while he worked away at his desk, that the soft music drifting through the courtyard was from Harry himself. Zayn knew he played a few instruments for work, as a small-time producer for random indie labels. And apparently he has a knack for little kids who want to be singers someday, because Ev ran into the apartment ten minutes ago, yelling about putting on a concert for him.

“Thanks again, for your help,” Zayn nudges Harry elbow this time.

“No worries.”

“Was she good? Bratty at all?”

“She’s not bratty,” Harry frowns, like he’s offended on her behalf. “She was great.”

“All kids are bratty sometimes.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ve never had to tell her no, then,” Zayn snorts.

Harry shoves at him, unconvinced, while Zayn cracks up. Zayn wouldn’t ordinarily wish for an Epic Meltdown from Ev, but they happen, and if Harry continues to be around, he should probably see one sooner rather than later. Prepare him a bit.

Zayn finds himself watching Harry play the ukulele next to him on the couch, his socked feet tucked inward a bit on the rug. It’s like he’s trying to grip the rug fibers under his toes, and Zayn sort of likes that. He sort of likes a lot about Harry, he thinks. His cheeks flare.

“Daddy, are you ready?” Ev says seriously, skidding into the room and catching herself on the arm of the couch.

“Babe, you can’t run inside, you’ll fall,” Zayn says, even though she doesn’t listen.

She situates herself in front of them, wearing one of Rachel’s skirts over her clothes. It’s way too big and pools all around her, as she tries to hold it up under her armpits. She has a bit of wobbly red lipstick on her lips and teeth, which Zayn stares her down for. She must’ve taken that from Rach as well, the little sneak.

Ev smiles sheepishly.

“Alright, toots. Let’s sit on the floor over here,” Harry says as she slips down from the couch to the rug, to walk on his knees towards the window. It must hurt his knees, Zayn thinks, with his jeans ripped to shreds over his kneecaps. His shirt also ripples as he shifts and moves his body to the floor, his tits out for the world to see, which Zayn looks away from. Ev complies and skips to Harry, throwing herself down to his right, so they can sit by side.

“Do you remember the words?” Harry whispers to her.

“Yes.”

Harry mouths to Zayn _no she doesn’t_ , and they share a smile.

“Daddy, you sing too,” Ev says, pulling up her skirt-dress.

“Tonight You Belong To Me,” Harry supplies the song title, with a nod to Zayn, to sing along if he knows the words. “The Eddie Vedder version.”

Zayn doesn’t have a clue, but he tells Ev, “I’ll try.”

And then Harry begins to play their [duet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bpu0TIXzI1w) on his shitty ukulele, his voice soft and insistent all at once, to egg Ev on. She watches him at first, just mouthing at nothing since the words are so new to her, and like Zayn, she’s a bit transfixed to listen to Harry sing. He nods to her, to help him,

_“I know you belong_

_to somebody new._

_But tonight,_

_you belong to me.”_

Ev remembers the end words the most, and gets louder and smiles her way through each, _“you belong to meee!”_ with a flourish.

When they get to the second verse, she watches Harry again, until he then dips into making trumpet noises with his mouth for a little coda.

Zayn can’t help it, he finds himself bouncing his eyes back and forth from Evie to Harry, the two of them two peas in a pod, singing side by side and swaying a bit. If Zayn didn’t know any better, they practiced this for days instead of only a few hours. His kid is a natural. And Harry is a good teacher.

_“My honey I know_

_by the dawn,_

_that you will be gone._

_And tonight_

_you belong to me.”_

Harry plays a few more chords and nudges Ev a bit, with a big wink, which she must understand. Because suddenly she’s up and off the floor, to sway and hold her arms out for the finale.

They finish the song with one final, _“And tonight, you belong to me… just a’little… old… meee.”_

Evelyn drops into a huge bow as Harry strums the last chord, with her skirt still in her hands. Zayn claps so loudly, gives them a standing ovation, and even whistles like his dad used to do at his school plays.

“Bravo,” Zayn bows to Ev. “Sensational. Beautiful. Five stars.”

“Daddy, you didn’t sing!” Ev laughs, dropping the skirt and leaping into his arms.

“I’ll teach him the words so he can join us next time,” Harry stands up, to high five her. “Good job, kid. You’re gonna be famous.”

“I know!”

Zayn snorts, as he bounces her and kisses her cheek. Harry, tucked close, rubs at her hair a bit, which has gone frizzy and wild from the day’s excitement. Zayn can smell him up close: a little sweaty, a little clean, a lot sandalwood. The three of them stand there for a few seconds, in a little circle, when a knock comes at the door.

Rachel walks in right as Harry steps away from Zayn, with a smile on her face, the same smile Zayn gets when he’s about to see Ev again.

“Mommy!” Ev squeals, wiggling from Zayn’s grip to run to her.

“Look at you,” Rachel giggles, tucking her fingers under Ev’s chin, to inspect the lipstick smeared all over her mouth.

“Somebody must’ve brought makeup with them,” Zayn says, not at all mad, even though he should pretend like he is.

“Evelyn, I swear,” Rach shakes her head, not mad either.

Zayn, like an idiot, just stands there and admires his kid again. The lipstick, the ponytail he had attempted that morning that is all but gone now, her hair falling onto her shoulders haphazardly. She’s so fucking cute. And then Rachel clears her throat, to get his attention.

“I’m Harry,” Harry supplies for himself, rolling his eyes at Zayn. He reaches a hand out to Rachel and says, “I live across the courtyard.”

“Rachel,” she smiles, a little. Harry must have that effect on people, getting them to smile before they can help it. “This one’s mom.”

“Harry, let’s sing our song!” Ev wiggles down to the floor from Rachel’s arms, reaching for Harry’s hand not holding the ukulele. “Listen to my song, mommy. It’s for school. I’m really good.”

“She is,” Harry and Zayn say together.

“I work in music,” Harry settles on the floor again, Ev right alongside him, to explain. “Thought I could help out.”

“How nice of you,” Rach says as she perches on the arm of the couch, before eyeing Zayn. She looks at him like she knows something he doesn’t. It’s a look Zayn hates, because it makes him feel about as big as Ev, so he glares at her.

Harry, still as much of a saint as ever, begins to play the song. It’s even better the second time. Ev gets into it, more confident with the words. She sings about half of the song this time, hell-bent on being good for her captivated audience.

The round of applause from Zayn and Rach is so loud, the neighbors above them can probably hear it.

Ev smiles so big and bright, Zayn has to grab his phone to snap a picture.

 

***

 

That night, over a rousing game of Yahtzee, Harry tells Zayn all about the book he’s reading. They sit at Zayn’s kitchen table, the entire apartment dark except for the small lamp above them. They drink beer because Zayn feels that sadness creeping in, at the tail end of an Evie weekend. At the thought of spending the next two weeks alone, with Evie living her life without her dad to watch from the sidelines.

She’s getting more used to it, the routine, and barely even pouted when Rachel carried her down the walkway to the car. She kissed Harry’s cheek, and then hugged Zayn for a solid three minutes in the courtyard beforehand, though. Zayn found it hard to let her go. He didn’t get the full day with her and it wasn’t fair.

Harry tries his best, to describe the book’s plot, to keep Zayn engaged. But Zayn can only half-heartedly nod here and there. Even in the haze of his thoughts, Zayn sort of feels like reaching for Harry’s arm, to silently say thank you for being around him even when he’s miserable. Harry really might become a good friend, if he keeps this up. Zayn should hold his hand.

He slouches at the table, shaking his head to rid the thought.

“Rachel seems really nice,” Harry gives up, to bring the conversation back to Zayn’s current situation.

“Yeah.”

“And she didn’t seem so… critical.”

Zayn realizes he doesn’t always speak so highly of his ex, now that he sees the look on Harry’s face. He must’ve been expecting a monster. Zayn knows they had a chat in the living room while Zayn helped Ev clean the lipstick off her face and pack up her stuff. The two of them had a few minutes alone in her room, where Zayn gave her butterfly kisses for the road, their long Malik eyelashes catching once or twice to make her giggle. When they got back into the living room, Rachel seemed just as taken with Harry as Zayn and Ev were. Still a little cautious of the stranger in close proximity to her kid, but enamored nonetheless.

“She seemed really happy when she left with Ev,” Harry smiles, like it’s a victory for Zayn. “Like she was glad that the weekend went well.”

“She saw that I had built the chairs, probably. And that Ev actually had a song for school. I’m sure that was a surprise,” Zayn sighs, taking a pull from his beer.

“But didn’t she ask you to get a song together? Did she think you would forget?”

“I’m not very reliable,” Zayn admits, standing to move to the couch.

Their game was practically over anyways, Harry would’ve won like he always does. They sit side by side and stare out the window towards the courtyard. They can see into Harry’s apartment, where he accidentally left his TV on.

“I know you’ve said it was hard, being married…” Harry treads lightly, his foot brushing against Zayn’s ankle. “But… what was it? That finally made you guys pull the plug?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Just… trying to understand… better.”

Zayn tries to think about it, about the final few weeks. The way they danced around each other during the day, or whenever Ev was present. Quiet. Civil. And then the nights after she went to sleep, the fighting. The vicious things they said, to purposefully cut deep. The unrelenting shake to Zayn’s hands, the closer they teetered to the edge.

“I think,” Zayn nods, “that in the end, we really just didn’t like each other. We got married for the wrong reasons, we stayed for even worse reasons. Not compatible. Not… in it. And when you don’t like the person next to you, you fight over nothing and everything.”

Harry snorts like he knows that well enough, probably thinking about his own parents, but lets Zayn continue.

“I’m not a natural at this, you know? The being-a-parent thing. I love Ev, you know I do, but it’s not second nature for me the way it is for Rach. I’m not good at it.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I need _a lot_ of help at this. Rach has to keep me in check constantly. And maybe that’s what did it. I always felt like she was telling me what to do, and she always hated having to be the one to tell me at all. Like I should already know how. And I _should_ know. Which is why I can never really blame her for kicking me out. For telling me to grow up and get my shit together.”

Harry takes a drink of his beer.

“I forgot her in the car once,” Zayn admits, his cheeks flaring red. “When she was a few months old.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

“It was only for a few minutes, I swear,” Zayn barrels on, admitting his biggest mistake to date. The mistake he silently beats himself up over every few days when he’s feeling especially low. “It was in our garage. It was after a long day, and I had to take groceries inside. I was just so exhausted. I started to boil a pot of water, for pasta or something. And then I checked the mail. And I think I even went upstairs to change, and shave. And then… I don’t even know why it hit me, but then I was flying down the stairs and into the garage. She was asleep in her car seat. Fast asleep, not a care in the world. It… it was a really bad day.”

It’s then that Zayn feels it. Harry leans closer and rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder. It’s a comforting gesture, something Harry seems to do whenever Zayn talks badly about himself or his abilities. Zayn tends to do that a lot lately, since he moved out of the house.

“Just because you had that bad day… or even if you need help, it doesn’t mean you’re not good at being a dad,” Harry says quietly, voice dipping to soothe him. Maybe to calm him down.

“Maybe.”

“She can’t get enough of you, Zayn. She adores you.”

“She had to remind me to buy her sheets for her own bed.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Zayn sighs and leans his head to rest it on Harry’s.

“Why are you so nice to me? Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off living in the city, hanging out with rock stars?”

“I’ve lived in plenty of cities. And I've met enough rock stars.”

“Still.”

“I like it here. I like you better than rock stars.”

Zayn doesn’t know how to respond to that. He also doesn’t know what to do with the hand Harry put on his thigh, whenever that was, when did that get there? But he doesn’t tense up or move away from it. He just looks down at the rings on Harry’s fingers, and thinks over how Harry procured them all.

_One from my mom. One from a trip to Thailand. A symbol for good health. A cool looking stone in this one, yeah?_

Zayn realizes, that even though he feels like they talk about him a lot, or his problems, Harry has given Zayn just as much about himself. Zayn knows the small details about Harry, like his rings. The good stuff. The facts he’d write on a questionnaire about himself. But Zayn also knows the bigger details, the ways Harry’s parents fucked him up, the drive and determination he has to flee conflict, the girls and boys he topples into bed with because he craves the detached intimacy. He’s compassionate and ridiculous and a little bit of a dork. They’re alike, in that way.

And that’s when Zayn knows they really are good friends. Real friends. The kind of friends who can sit around and put together puzzles, to pretend they don’t have to talk it out, and yet all the while spend their time peeling back the layers.

Harry shifts slightly closer. Zayn lets him.

“I should go soon. We both have to work tomorrow,” Harry says quietly, without moving.

“Yeah.”

“Jenga tomorrow night, though?”

“I’ll wipe the floor with your ass,” Zayn warns. “I’m a Jenga ninja.”

“We’ll see.”

They don’t move from the couch. They stay right where they are, to finish their beers, and sit in the silence instead.

 

***

 

As it always seems to go in Zayn’s life, it’s two steps forward and one step back. Just because he can see _why_ Rachel is sometimes a bitch, doesn’t mean he enjoys or can _take_ Rachel being a bitch.

She ends up calling him the next night in the middle of Jenga, with the news that Ev’s teacher loved the song she presented to class. And over dinner, Ev raved about how daddy had to work, how she had some “Harry time.” She now wants a ukulele of her own.

“Harry time? Really?” Rachel levels him with the question, her voice firm. She sounds like she’s in her closet again. Zayn moves out of Harry’s kitchen so he can’t hear, and heads outside to the courtyard to light a cigarette.

“Yeah, so?” Zayn gets defensive immediately, his go-to reaction.

“So you have her for the weekend, and you call a babysitter?”

“Rachel, I swear to fucking god…” Zayn practically grunts, not giving her the satisfaction of explaining himself. He flicks his lighter angrily.

She ignores him and he hears the closet door open, like she’s already finished with their conversation. She knows he won’t admit to a thing.

“Good job with getting the chairs built. Finally.”

“Fuck you, too.”

He hangs up on her.

 

***

 

Zayn meets up with a few of the guys he used to work with at ARJ during their early newsroom days when all they did was fact check and compile shitty local news reports. Liam and Andy, just as stupid as they used to be, both a little rounder. Jacob, Dustin, Tom with the slight lisp. Good guys.

None of them are married or divorced. Only Dustin has a kid, not that Zayn discusses fatherhood with him. They just drink at the bar closest to Tom’s house so he doesn’t try to drive home again, and it’s fine, to be out of the house and away from the thoughts clouding his vision.

Zayn gets home at around two in the morning and knocks on Harry’s door.

“Your couch is better than the floor of my bedroom,” Zayn slurs to him pathetically.

Harry frowns and lets him in.

 

***

 

** November **

 

Zayn pulls up to the house quickly and efficiently, since he’s running a few minutes late. He tries to slick the sides of his hair down with spit, and button the top of his shirt all in one fluid motion. It doesn’t look great on either front. He feels disheveled, sloppy, wrong. Like he shouldn’t be stepping back into his old house now, after the few months he’s been away from it.

But then he sees Evie in the doorway, smiling at him, her little palms on the glass. She’s beautiful as always, in a new plaid dress and black tights, her hair in pigtails. She waves, yells something over her shoulder. And that’s all there is to it, really. In no time at all, Zayn’s out of the car and scooping her up into his arms.

“Hi baby,” he says quietly, the sounds and smells of Thanksgiving swirling around them.

“Daddy, what did you bring?” she says, looking at the Tupperware in his hand.

“Cookies for you,” he kisses her cheek. “Homemade and everything.”

She squeals and grabs for the plastic container, before jumping down to run off and play with her cousins. She thinks she can take it with her, bless her.

“You made cookies?” Rachel asks, as she steps out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel, grabbing the container from Ev before she flies off again.

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Well, Harry did. Thank God.

It’s not so bad after that, once Zayn walks away from her and into the living room. Divorce doesn’t mean divorcing the family, clearly. He’s there for Ev, so she can have both parents together for the holiday. So he tries to be cordial, to sit with the thin, mostly blond family. Keeps quiet. He always got along well enough with Rach’s family. They’re fine. White and boring, the type of family to absolutely need a football game on so they don’t have to discuss much amongst themselves.

So Zayn busies himself with the Packers and texting Harry random taunts when they go fourth and down every other goddamn possession. Zayn’s not sure where Harry is. He once mentioned some friends coming into town, random people he met in Palm Springs the summer before. So maybe that’s Zayn’s answer. He doesn’t ask.

Zayn takes it upon himself to grab Evelyn by the hand when dinner is served, to get her a plate and make sure she eats it. It’s something Rachel always gets to do first, to fuss over their kid in family settings. It also gives her the oh-so-lovely task of asking Zayn later why he “didn’t help enough.” So it’s selfish of course, to want Ev close, but also a big Fuck You to Rachel.

“No green beans,” Ev says, rubbing her eyes, already getting tired.

“Corn then,” Zayn agrees, spooning some on to a plate for her.

She eats on his lap, the two of them tucked in the corner of the dining room as Rachel’s family talk and laugh about politics. Her dad Roger, the one who always makes sure to keep everyone’s wine glasses full and never knows what to say to Zayn most of the time, actually calls out to him over dessert.

“So Zayn,” he says politely, sipping a rather large glass of his “specially ordered Domaine Leroy Musigny pinot noir from the homeland.”

Zayn lets go of the fork he was holding with Ev, so they each could take a bite of pie one after the other, and looks up surprised. Rachel swirls her own wine across the table, with a small frown.

“How are things going for you?” Roger tries. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

_Because we’re getting divorced, Rog. You can say it._

Zayn clears his throat, leaning around Ev’s head.

“Good,” he says with an awkward smile. “All good. Still writing, you know. The Sun mostly. Just… you know, working. Trucking along.”

“That’s what Rachel said. That’s great.”

“Yeah, thanks. And you?” Zayn tries.

_See, I can be polite too. And social. I have my kid on my lap and I’m talking to the in-laws. Fuck You again, Rach._

“We’re good,” he nods happily, nodding to his wife Maureen. “The firm is doing well. Still trying to convince Rachel to come work for us, as always.”

Zayn just nods. Still polite. Ev nudges his hand to cut through the apple pie on their plate, to fork a piece for her. He starts to, when Roger fucking Perrault, lights a match to Zayn’s entire little house of cards he’s been building for himself since September.

“It was good to have Evie with us last weekend, as well,” he says, clinking a glass with one of his other relatives, as other conversations start up around them. Once the awkwardness of addressing Zayn directly is out of the way, the rest of the clan moves right along. No one pays attention as Zayn stills entirely, his body frozen. Ev must notice, because she fusses for a second in his lap and turns to him.

“Excuse me?” Zayn says, his voice as level as he can make it.

“Last weekend. While Rach went to D.C. for the wedding,” Roger says nonchalantly between sips. He sees Zayn’s face and adds, confused, “For… Leslie Ann’s wedding.”

Zayn looks at Roger. Blinks. And then looks down at Evie still in his lap.

“Are you done, babe?” he whispers.

“Yep,” she says with a pop to her p sound. “Can I go play?”

“Go wash your hands with Mackenzie,” he says, gesturing to a random cousin, not even sure if that’s her name, and certainly not caring.

Ev hops off his lap and runs away, her hair still in pigtails, and then it’s just the adults in the room, all chatting idly, content and full. Zayn gives Rachel a leveling look, that look thing they’ve perfected so well, and then they’re both off to find a quiet room to themselves.

It ends up being their goddamn bedroom. Or Rachel’s bedroom now. Just hers. His bedside table, once littered with books and his iPad, his glasses, a bottle of aspirin, it’s empty now. Now it just holds a lamp and a photo of Rachel with her two best friends.

Zayn pulls at his hair, completely fucking it up beyond repair, as Rachel quietly shuts the door.

“Are you fucking serious?” he hisses first thing.

“Can you please not yell right now? We have company.”

“ _You_ have company.”

“Zayn, please,” she sighs, like she’s speaking to a child.

“I seriously can’t believe you,” he turns to her, eyes full of fire. “You… I get her four fucking days a month, Rach. You let me have her for _four fucking days_. And you go out of town, and take her to your parents? You don’t even tell me? You… why couldn’t she stay with me? I’m right fucking here!”

Somewhere downstairs, a door shuts loudly. A warning that says they can be heard, and to maybe keep it down. Rachel touches a finger to her forehead, her sweater bunched up in the other hand.

“She hasn’t seem them lately,” she says quietly.

“No. Fuck that. That’s so fucking unfair. And you know it.”

Rachel walks past him, to face the closet. She probably wishes this could be over the phone, so she could go hide in it to mask their voices.

“You still don’t have a bed,” she hisses, angry then too. “I know you don’t.”

“Oh really, and how do you know that?”

“Well, do you?” she looks at him.

Zayn almost picks up the lamp from his old bedside table and throws it at the wall, he swears it. He has to walk away from it entirely.

“I’ll get one. Is that what you want? You want me to furnish my bedroom, and then I can have my kid more? Is that it?”

“I want what I always want, Zayn. I want you to try harder.”

“I am! I’m trying so fucking hard!”

“You never button her coat,” Rachel throws her hands up, fed up with him entirely. “You don’t have a bed. You showed up to her school on Halloween _reeking_ of cigarette smoke, even though you swore you were going to quit. You have your neighbor babysit for you, when you have to work. You forget to help her with her letters and you didn’t sign the school form. You _lost_ the first form!”

Zayn takes a step back, his face blank.

“So yeah, I took her to my parents’ house when I had to go to D.C. It wasn’t your weekend, so it wasn’t your choice. And for all I know, on your weekends without Ev, you’re out, god only knows where. You’re… you’re single now, so… I don’t know what you do.”

Zayn gapes at her. Does she know him at all?

But before he can drive the car right off the cliff, and really lay into her, for being a judgmental asshole, he just… stops. He actually drops his head then, exhausted. He doesn’t want to yell anymore. He doesn’t want to hate the mother of his child. He doesn’t want to be the shitty dad who can’t button a coat.

“You wanna know what I do? When I don’t have Ev?” he says to his shoes, the black ones he grabbed from Harry’s closet because he didn’t have any nice ones.

She doesn’t say anything.

“I’m fucking miserable, Rach. I don’t do anything. I quit my fucking job so I could freelance and be closer to home. I don’t go anywhere. I’m not like, living it up as a bachelor. I just sit around and miss her. That’s it.”

“Zayn,” she says quietly.

“I can’t be without my kid,” he finally looks up at her, his eyes cloudy. “Keeping her away from me is making it worse. I… I need her. I do better with her around. I’ll get a bed, I’ll… I won’t lose the forms. You can count on me, I promise. I _promise_ , Rach. You just have to let me have her. I’ll try harder.”

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say,” she stares at him. “I’m not a bitch for wanting my child to be in a good home. A real one. Not some apartment you can barely bother to fix up. I’m not a terrible person for craving peace of mind, instead of worrying while she’s with you.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

“I…”

“Can I have her after school?” he steps to her, palms out in surrender. “Please?”

Rachel pinches her lip, just as exhausted.

“You have Mrs. Nelson pick her up, right? When she picks up Kaius? And then she’s at their house next door until you’re home from work, right? Let me have her. I’ll pick her up. I’ll take her to my place, and help her do homework, and eat a snack, and play with her. And then… you come get her after work.”

“Zayn.”

“I won’t fuck it up. I won’t forget anything, I’ll make sure she’s picked up every day at three. I’ll prove it. I just… I need her. I need her, Rach.”

A small knock comes from the other side of the door, and then a little hand reaches in.

“Mommy?” Ev says, peeking around the wood.

“Hi baby,” Rach drops down to her knees, for Ev to come hug her.

Ev walks over and crawls into her lap, holding on tight. Zayn doesn’t know if he should invade the space. If he’s wanted. But Rachel helps him out, as always, and waves at him behind Ev’s back. In three seconds, he’s on the floor too.

“Why are you sad?” Evie asks them both, her face muffled in Rachel’s shoulder, fingers holding Zayn’s wrist.

“We’re not sad,” Zayn assured her, kissing her cheek, smoothing her hair.

“You sounded sad,” she sniffs. “Or mad.”

Zayn almost smacks himself in the face. Evie isn’t supposed to hear them fighting. That was their rule. They were always so careful. But the look in her eyes says otherwise, that this isn’t the first time she’s caught them. It’s just the first time she’s made it known.

“We’re never sad when we’re with you,” Zayn says honestly, his chest expanding a little too quickly.

Evie reaches for him, and crawls into his lap then. Rach takes her turn to smooth her hair, and wipe her little face with the back of her hand.

“Do you want to sing your song? Let’s sing daddy your bedtime song,” Rach whispers, as they rock her a bit. It’s been a long day, full of people fussing over her, playing in the backyard, eating all that food. She didn’t even have a nap, poor thing.

Zayn looks at Rachel, confused.

“Will you sing it with us, daddy?”

“Yeah, I’ll sing,” he says, still unsure of what to do.

They take her to her room and crowd on either side of her on the bed. They don’t even bother to undress her, besides her tights, shoes, and hair bows. She nuzzles into Zayn’s chest and wraps her fingers around his thumb.

Rachel leans her shoulder against his a bit and suddenly it feels like two years ago, when they did this as a family all the time, before they stopped to instead take turns. So they didn’t have to be close if they could help it.

She looks at him and sighs.

And then she starts to sing, completely off key as always. Ev follows along, since she knows every word now, apparently.

_“I know you belong_

_to somebody new…_

_But tonight,_

_you belong to me…”_

Zayn can hardly believe his ears. Apparently this is Ev’s song. The song she sings before bed now, to relax and soothe herself. It’s the song she must ask Rachel for night after night. And fast as anything, Zayn thinks of Harry. Ev sings the song she learned at Zayn’s house, with Zayn’s friend, during Zayn’s weekend. A time and place where she was happy. A happy memory.

He looks at Rachel and she looks at him, and they have a whole conversation without a word.

_You can pick her up from school._

_Thank you._

_Don’t let me down, Zayn._

_I won’t._

_And?_

_Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure to button her coat._

Rachel even smiles a little, right before they both look away. Zayn cuddles closer to his daughter, as her grip on his thumb goes slack, and she drifts off. He hopes she has good dreams, full of beauty and magic, free of pain and screaming parents.

When he drops onto his own couch later that night, he wishes the same for himself.

 

***

 

** December **

 

Zayn catches himself staring. Again. It’s just that sometimes he can’t help it, in quiet moments with Harry, the way his eyes linger. Harry stands in front of him stock still, his arms folded across his chest, in that long black expensive-looking coat he said he’s had for years. His hair in a messy bun Zayn sort of wants to tug at with numb fingers. Zayn can’t see his face yet, but he’d bet his life savings that Harry is frowning.

As he finally gets a grip and approaches, Harry must hear his feet in the gravel.

“I think the one on the left,” Harry says with a sure nod. “The one on the right is too round at the top.”

Zayn lands next to him and tries to weigh his options, as he grips the beanie on his head to pull it down over his ears. He’s absolutely freezing his dick off. Thankfully it hasn’t snowed yet, otherwise he’d definitely be waiting in the car.

It’s officially December. They’ve been perusing the Christmas tree lot across from Harry’s studio for almost thirty minutes, and at this point, a good tree isn’t even worth it. He only needs one because he gets Ev for Christmas Eve. And even though he himself doesn’t celebrate the holiday, he needs to participate for Ev’s sake.

In all honesty, Zayn doesn’t really give a shit what the tree looks like. To him, it’s just a dead plant to randomly prop up in his living room.

But Harry gives a shit, so Zayn keeps that particular train of thought to himself.

“You think?” he says with a sniff, not wanting to rain on Harry’s parade.

“Left one. For sure.”

“Whatever you say, Father Christmas. Load it up,” Zayn shrugs. “We have lots more to do today. Chop chop.”

Zayn tries to playfully pinch Harry’s arm, to get him to move. But Harry ends up squirming away from it, sidestepping him, to grab for Zayn’s neck. They laugh as Harry walks them towards the cashier, with Zayn in a headlock, his beanie falling right off towards the frozen ground.

 

***

 

“You’re practically skipping,” Harry smirks towards him later that afternoon, as they wheel a shopping cart down the aisle of their local Safeway.

Zayn doesn’t dignify that with a response, even as his cheeks warm up a bit. He can’t help the excitement flooding through him, the anticipation of getting Ev every day after school now. He officially gets to pick her up the next day, at exactly three, as promised. She’ll spend two hours with him, until Rachel or one of her parents picks her up, and it’s perfect.

Rachel said she wasn’t going to officially go on record, legally, as saying that Zayn gets more or extra time with Ev. Zayn knows she wants to see how the routine goes first, if Zayn can keep up his end of the bargain. It all boils down to seeing if he’ll fuck it up somehow.

Which is why he’s officially getting his shit together.

Zayn looks down at his list and bites at his pen. His mom always said to never go to the store without a list and a pen. So he chomps the plastic cap between his teeth and crosses off sliced cheese. Ev likes cheese. And Zayn needs to get all the food Ev loves, to stock the fridge and have on hand. He almost texted Rach, to prove that he can grocery shop when necessary.

Harry nudges his arm, as they pass the cream cheese.

“I’m not making fun of you, I promise,” Harry says, taking Zayn’s silence for annoyance. “I know you’re excited to have her more. It’s an exciting time. Sorry.”

“You need to stop apologizing so much,” Zayn says, like he’s in dad-mode and giving a lesson. He reaches for a bag of shredded cheese.

“So I’ve been told, sadly.”

Zayn smiles at him, to let him know it’s okay. And then he does skip, to make Harry laugh, as they turn the corner away from the dairy section.

They head towards the bread aisle next. Zayn needs bread. And maybe bagels. And Pop-Tarts. Ev likes those. _Who am I kidding, I’ll end up eating most of them myself._

It’s while they peruse the aisle for a few minutes in silence, when Zayn has to stop. He looks down into the cart Harry’s been pushing for him, perplexed.

“When did I grab hand soap?”

Harry leans onto the cart handle, his chest exploding out of his shirt yet again, and smiles at him, waiting for Zayn to catch up.

“And I didn’t have sponges or Febreeze candles on here either.”

In fact, as he looks through the contents further, he sees a whole mess of stuff he himself didn’t reach for.

Harry gingerly touches Zayn’s hand, like maybe he wants to hold it. Zayn’s breath catches in his throat, until Harry instead grabs the list and pen from him.

“You need soap for your bathroom,” Harry says gently, writing it all down, the smart ass. “Ev’s good, she never forgets to wash her hands after she goes potty, so she’ll need soap. And sponges, because come on, Zayn. How the hell do you expect to wash your dishes without a sponge?”

Zayn stares at him.

“Candles so it can smell more like home. You needed a better can opener,” he rattles it off, writing each new item down onto Zayn’s list. “A cake mix, because you never know when you’ll need to bake one on short notice. Frosting. And since you insist on Pop-Tarts, you also need raisins and dried mango, for healthy snack options.”

Zayn stares at him.

“Nicorette gum. To finally kick the smoking habit,” Harry levels him with a serious look, before jotting it down.

Zayn looks down into his cart.

“And last but not least, milk,” Harry finishes, handing back Zayn’s list and pen.

“I forgot to write milk?”

“You forgot to write milk.”

“Jesus,” Zayn says with a small smile. “Well thank God for you, then.”

“Thank God for me!” Harry yells out like a maniac, his arms in the air like he won the friend lottery. Zayn laughs at him, his stupid, childish friend. But then he notices Harry’s shirt has gotten caught on the top of his jeans, so he can see a sliver of skin and wild hair above his groin.

Zayn looks away, even as Harry sings his own praises louder and louder to embarrass him.

Zayn shoves at him, so they can hurry up and get home. They ran errands all day, to get the tree, some frames for the living room, and a few rugs Harry insisted on. But they need to be home for the big delivery. Zayn kept asking Harry why he even wanted to be there, to do the errands in the first place when he didn’t have to. “Don’t you have more interesting people to spend your time with?” But Harry just ignored him, time after time, with a flick of his hand like the question was ridiculous. Now, with a cart full of the necessities Harry knew he needed before he did, Zayn’s rather glad he has Harry with him.

Harry shoves back at him and as Zayn almost falls, he grabs onto Harry’s hips to steady himself. It’s then that he notices a little old lady at the end of the aisle giving them a dirty look. Zayn suddenly feels his palms burning, so he quickly lets Harry go and reaches for the cart, to turn them the other direction. But the universe must hate him, because a second later, Harry notices the woman staring too.

Harry touches his wrist to stop him.

“Let’s have some fun, yeah?” he whispers with a wink.

“Okay,” Zayn nods dumbly.

Harry grips the cart handle in his big hands and pushes them towards the old lady with the stink eye. She doesn’t even pretend like she wasn’t watching them, and literally scoffs, as she turns back to her choice of hamburger buns.

Harry stops their cart near hers, and drifts to the hotdog buns instead, his finger tapping his lip like it’s a huge decision. Zayn has to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling.

“Babe, what kind do you want?” Harry asks, reaching a hand out to pull Zayn close to him. Like a boyfriend would.

And then Zayn is flush against Harry’s side, their fingers laced together, his dick pressed into Harry’s hip. Zayn thinks he left his stomach and brain over near the bagels, because he feels very discombobulated.

“Um.”

“This one,” Harry says, reaching for a random brand.

“Okay.”

“And did you grab the lube?” Harry asks innocently, loud enough for the woman to hear. “The flavored kind? You know I like that fruity taste when I have my mouth in your ass.”

The woman actually shrieks a bit, completely horrified. She moves away from them so quickly, like they’re infectious, their filthy mouths too contagious to be near.

“And then I’ll fuck you!” Harry yells after her, pulling Zayn's arm as she scurries as fast as her little old legs can take her. “Twice!”

Zayn smacks him and tries to laugh, even though his face reddens. Sometimes it feels like Harry brings out this side of him, like he’s fourteen and nervous around a girl, and not a grown ass man who only likes girls. In turn, he thinks it’s good for Harry to have some family ties, even if it’s just to his neighbor and his kid. Harry needs some family, Zayn thinks.

He realizes as he scratches at the hair on his chin that he’s kept his beard long and wild ever since Thanksgiving. He needs to shave before he picks Ev up tomorrow. He also needs to not think about the fact that he’s just held Harry’s hips, and hand, within the same five minutes. He shouldn’t think about the feel of either sensation.

“Come on,” Harry says with a flourish, as he begins to push their cart away. “I want to decorate the tree before the delivery.”

“But why,” Zayn says quietly, more to himself than to Harry, following him. Harry has so many interesting friends, people who he can go off and adventure with. They have their cameras and their seemingly unlimited plane tickets, yachts and ski lodges and trips to the Cape. Harry could be with any number of them, and yet he spends huge portions of his time with Zayn.

Zayn even shakes his head a bit, at a loss.

Harry stops. He clears his throat and forces Zayn to look at him.

“If you ask me one more time, why I want to spend time with you or your kid, I swear.”

“Sorry.”

“You need to stop apologizing so much, Zayn!” Harry calls over his shoulder, now making his way to the front of the store.

Zayn doesn’t move from the bread aisle for a few seconds, trying to catch up to his thoughts.

 

***

 

For the next day or so, everything moves very fast.

Zayn’s bed gets delivered that night, after they decorate the tree and right in the middle of Harry cooking dinner in Zayn’s kitchen. Two large men shuffle their way through the living room, with supplies to set up the frame, and then with a mattress in tow. Harry insists that they “try it out” while his chicken parm bakes, so they flail around on it a bit to break it in. Once they’re breathless and still, side by side staring at the ceiling, Harry says it’s a little too firm for his tastes. But Zayn quietly reminds him he won’t be the one sleeping in it, that he likes a firm mattress, and that shuts him up pretty quickly.

Then it’s midnight and Zayn can’t sleep. His thoughts stray to the grocery store, to that lady and Harry’s comment about flavored lube, and then he’s jerking himself off roughly on top of new sheets.

Then it’s four in the morning and he still can’t sleep, so he jerks off again.

Then it’s noon and he can’t concentrate on his article, so he looks out his window to see if Harry’s around. He’s not.

Then it’s three in the afternoon, and he’s standing outside of Ev’s school, nervous as hell. He met Ev’s teacher on the first day, but hasn’t interacted with her since. He hopes she remembers him, and doesn’t think he’s some creep about to abduct a child or something. He should’ve called ahead.

Zayn picks at the scab on his freshly shaved chin, and almost texts Rachel, to make sure the school knows he’s allowed to pick Ev up. He could even add, “And see, I’m on time, I told you so,” but he’s trying to be better about being a dick to Rach for no reason. She doesn’t deserve it.

But then it’s five minutes after three, and all his nerves are forgotten, when Ev comes running at him full speed. Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so happy, as her little backpack bobs up and down, her pink Chucks slapping the pavement to get to him faster.

“Daddy!” she squeals, leaping into his arms.

“Evelyn, is that you?” he teases her, lifting her almost above his head. “You’re huge.”

“I’m not that much bigger!” she giggles.

“You grew about a foot since I saw you last.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

She laughs again, as he settles her on his hip. He looks up and sees Ev’s teacher, who waves at him graciously, and then they’re off. Zayn carries her to the car and begins to strap her into her car seat. It’s freezing out, one of the coldest days of winter so far, but still no snow.

“Daddy, where are we going?” she asks as Zayn pulls out of the parking lot.

“You’re coming home with me, remember? You get to come play at my house after school now.”

“All the time?”

“Yep.”

“And Harry’s gonna play too?”

“Maybe. Not every afternoon, but maybe sometimes.”

Zayn has gotten used to Harry coming and going. On the nights they don’t spend together, Zayn can’t help but notice that Harry’s apartment sits dark and empty. Zayn doesn’t really ask where he’s gone.

“I like Harry," Ev says.

“Me too.”

Ev goes quiet, as Zayn gets closer and closer to home. If he didn’t know any better, she must’ve fallen asleep. She’s hardly ever this quiet when they’re together. She must save her quiet moments for other days of the week.

He glances in the rear view to see her face. She watches the world pass by through her window. Not asleep, but eyes looking up at the clouds. Just being a Malik, he supposes. Taking a minute of silence for herself. He sort of loves the fact that now that he gets her more often, he’ll see these other sides of her. He gets to be apart of it, as she grows up and shapes into a real person, with personality traits and flaws and questions.

“Daddy, is it gonna snow?” she wonders as they pull up to the apartment.

“Looks like it might.”

“Oh.”

“Still don’t like it, huh?”

“It’s too cold,” she says, grabbing onto his hand as they cross in front of Harry’s front window looking into the courtyard.

“I’m going to get you out into the snow, Evelyn Malik,” comes Harry’s voice exactly three seconds later, the sneak. Zayn shoves his key into his door and chuckles, at Harry being a creep and listening in on their conversation.

He’s supposed to be at work, now that Zayn thinks about it. Harry always works late on Mondays and Tuesdays, when most bands tend to put in the hours. “Not fun to party on Mondays and Tuesdays, see?” But there he is, strolling into Zayn’s apartment right after them, in all his tall, lanky glory.

The apartment looks and feels so different now, Zayn thinks, pleased with himself. Harry and Ev start babbling about school and snow, kicking their shoes off at the same time, and heading towards the kitchen for a snack. He looks around at his furniture, the books he has placed above his head on the wrap around shelf. The plant in the corner, the TV now on a stand Harry found for him, the black and white pictures of Ev all over the walls. Among them are a few of Zayn in college, with friends he mostly only talks to through Facebook now. A painting Ev did the summer before, that was supposed to be of her little family. Zayn’s hair is red in it, and he genuinely contemplated dying it red for a while, to make Ev happy. To fit the scene.

It came together quite nicely, once Rachel kicked his ass into gear and made him appreciate the space for his daughter’s sake, and once Harry told him what color rug to buy. It’s home now. It feels like home, with his kid’s voice coming from the kitchen, and her belongings flung across the floor, proving how comfortable she is. How she knows it’s her home, too.

It’s exactly where Zayn wants to be, and it’s a feeling he hasn’t had in a very long time.

He walks into the kitchen, to see Ev up on the counter with her legs crossed, her chin in her hands as she watches Harry. Harry has his back to Zayn as he chops up an apple on a cutting board. Zayn can only lean against the door frame to watch. Why does he love to watch them so much?

“Apple sandwiches,” Harry explains to Ev, slicing it into rings. “Two slices for ‘bread,’ and then we put peanut butter between them. A few raisins stuck into the peanut butter, and you’re good to go.”

“I don’t like raisins,” Ev says, unconvinced.

“Have you ever tried raisins?”

“No.”

“Then how would you know you don’t like them?” Harry tuts at her, tickling her under her chin.

Ev giggles and Zayn is struck, yet again, with the thought that it’s the most beautiful sound on the planet. He could listen to Ev laugh all fucking day.

“And what do you say?” Zayn says in a soft voice, as he finally steps into the kitchen. He leans on the counter next to Harry, but looks over at Ev. Harry hands him an apple sandwich of his own. He smiles in lieu of a thank you.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ev says with a little dance, distracted as she excitedly licks at the peanut butter all over her fingers. Zayn worries she’ll mostly just eat that, and leave the apple and raisins on the counter.

“No problem, toots,” Harry responds easily, licking at the peanut butter from his own fingers.

A few minutes later, after they’ve helped Ev eat her snack and wash her hands, she runs off to put on a new dress, yelling over her shoulder about singing songs with Harry. “Before homework, I know, daddy.” Zayn sees Harry flinch a bit, when Ev calls out to him from her room, to go grab his ukulele.

Harry doesn’t move to get it, though. They instead stand side by side at the sink. Harry washes the knife he cut the apple with, and Zayn wipes down the counter next to them. Ev ate her whole snack, raisins and all. He almost can’t believe it.

“I can go,” Harry says, his face blank, looking down at the wet knife in his hand. “I sort of just barged in here before. I feel like… I probably do that to you a lot. Just show up and play with Ev. And I know… like, you should have alone time with her. I can go.”

It’s odd how just the day before, Zayn had the thought that everything seemed to be rushing around him at breakneck speed. One minute he was in a tree lot standing beside Harry, and then the next he was holding his dick in his hand in the darkness of his bedroom. Their errands, Harry scoffing at Zayn for thinking he’d want to be anywhere else, Ev’s little face as she watched the sky for signs of falling snow. It was like a film reel, a quick succession of moments that Zayn grappled to hold onto and understand, for various reasons.

And then it slows down. It’s like all the thoughts in Zayn’s head, the worries and inadequacies and questions, could all dance on the head of a pin. It all goes quiet, when Zayn comes to a conclusion about Harry. Or rather, about himself.

“You should stay,” Zayn nods, not looking at Harry either. “We like it when you’re here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn sees Harry smile.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

Zayn is good at compartmentalizing. He can compartmentalize his actions, his emotions, himself. It makes it easier, since he lives his life in a constant state of, “Who do I need to be today?”

Some days, he feels like Zayn Malik the writer, the young-ish man who can string a hefty sentence together for profit. He’s a hard worker, striving to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He’s beautiful, a rogue, the guy who always carries a pen and a pad of paper, the one on the motorcycle who can light a cigarette and blow it in your face with a smirk.

Other days, he’s daddy. Zayn Malik the father, someone on the tail end of his twenties, with a few lines around his eyes, and his mother on speed dial for important child rearing questions. He’s quiet and sturdy, an old oak tree like Yaser, with recipes and kitchen life hacks saved as bookmarks on his phone. He’s too busy for his old friends, too wrapped up in his daughter, fighting tooth and nail for her to be happy. Passionate, sometimes angry, his temper getting the best of him when it comes to Rachel.

And then there are days where he’s just Zayn. Simple, blank slate Zayn. We all have those days, when we’re not so much an amalgamation of personality traits, and instead just a living, breathing organism without much thought or cognition. It’s how Zayn gets when he’s bored or tired, when he just sits there and tries not to think. Mindless in front of the TV with a bag of Doritos. A dork who builds Lego sets because he lied once, and told his cousins to buy Ev Legos because she liked them. (She doesn’t. They’re for him.)

But now there’s another part of himself that he has to set to the side when necessary, a part he never realized was there before. It’s the part that Harry sees more often than anyone else ever has, when they’re getting drunk or solving a puzzle. It’s a side of himself that Harry brings out in him, when he touches Zayn’s back or lifts up a branch so Zayn can walk under it unobstructed. A new part. The gay part.

_So I’m gay now._

Zayn says it in his head a few times here and there, when he’s waiting in line at Target or ordering coffee at Starbucks. It doesn’t feel right, or like _him_ at all, because he’s pretty sure if he was gay, he’d already know it. But there it is, the nagging thought that he can’t get rid of. Like it’s something he should’ve figured out by now, like it’s another piece to his puzzle.

But isn't that just like Zayn, to be unprepared. Behind. Off-beat and misstepping his way through adulthood, until someone like Harry wrote it down on his shopping list and handed it back, so he wouldn't forget.

He catches himself looking at other men now. Tall ones, men who tower over him in public places. Short men. Men with beards that match his own, men with baby faces, muscles, thick thighs, big feet. He wonders about their dicks. All of their dicks.

_Maybe I was gay before. Or gay always._

He thinks that one night, after he falls back into bed with damp fingers. He’d just come rather quickly into his fist, so he washed his hands with the coconut soap Harry insisted he buy. He thinks maybe he’s always had _some_ gay to him, because he looks up at his blank ceiling and remembers his old posters from his childhood bedroom. He had football players tacked up there, some of dad’s favorites. Barry Sanders, Brett Favre, Troy Aikman. Handsome and stoic, their arms bulged out and imposing. It hits him that he had massive athletes on top of him for years, and he never even _liked_ football all that much!

The gay quite literally stared him in the face for years and he never even realized it.

Or maybe he did know, on some level. Maybe it’s not a new revelation, to be looking at men now, later in life. He’s always been looking. He’s just gotten good at hiding it from himself. He did get pretty angry with his childhood friend Danny, when he fucked a girl for the first time in junior high. He thought it was jealousy for a while, at not having a girl of his own. But it was Danny who always made Zayn feel safe and protected, let him ride his skateboard that first time, never made Zayn sleep on the shitty couch whenever Zayn slept over. Maybe his first crush wasn’t Allie up the street, but Danny.

And maybe the reason he was always so enamored with his high school English teacher wasn’t just for his brain, but for the way he sat in his desk chair. Mr. Rickert used to spread his legs a bit, to get comfortable, and now that Zayn has the time to think back on it, he definitely used to watch.

But Zayn was into girls. He had girlfriends. He touched them and they touched him. He had hookups and one night stands. He had Rachel in college, swept her right off her feet, always told her she was beautiful and meant it every single time.

And really, he hasn’t had sex in a very long time now. So maybe it’s just his brain supplying him with the next closest thing: Harry Styles. Harry, with his long legs and broad shoulders, big hands attached to thin wrists. Harry, who bends over when he drops something, instead of crouching down to get it.

But that doesn’t seem fair, to only think of Harry in a physical sense. Zayn knows too much about him to dumb him down to just that. Zayn knows him. He knows he’s funny and smart, a genius when it comes to music composition, a master of the stringed instruments. He loves his mom and hates his dad. He never wants to have a kid of his own, and yet he knew how to make an apple sandwich for Zayn’s. He’s probably Zayn’s best friend now, ever since Zayn moved into his apartment and away from every part of himself that he once knew.

It all comes down to the fact that Zayn is good at compartmentalizing. He can be a writer, a dad, a loner, and a gay guy. But he can’t be all of them at once. So for the time being, he takes the part of his brain that wants to stare at Harry’s bare back when he comes over after a shower, and he sets that box aside until he can delve into it further. He doesn’t have a clue what to do when it comes to the Harry situation, so he decides to ignore it until the answer comes to him organically. Naturally.

So Zayn spends the rest of the month writing pieces as quickly and efficiently as he can. He can’t give any of his sites a reason to look elsewhere, to other freelancers, because he had to take into account buying numerous holiday presents. He cuts back on cigarettes almost entirely, and only indulges on the rare nights out he spends with his old ARJ coworkers. Liam smokes like a chimney, so you can’t exactly blame Zayn for taking a pull here and there.

He picks Evelyn up after school, every single day, as promised. He’s never late. He’s never behind or in traffic. Ev runs to him, sometimes with artwork in her hands, or her lunchbox, or a form for him to sign. They laugh and talk about the interesting things she’s learning. Blue and yellow make green. Sea otters hold hands so they don’t drift away from each other. The biggest living structure in the world is the Great Barrier Reef, so now Ev wants to be a scuba diver when she grows up.

She waves to Harry sometimes, from their front window. Then like clockwork, Harry comes over and sings with her, their harmonies and melodies getting almost _too_ good for Zayn to handle. One Saturday, when Zayn gets another frantic call to write a last-minute story, Harry shows up by some magical force, to grab Ev’s hand and take her to his place. They come back a few hours later, with a homemade chocolate cake doused in vanilla frosting, wearing party hats and everything. Harry even throws up a bit of makeshift confetti, made from ripped up receipts.

Evelyn, the genius that she is, told Harry it was her daddy’s birthday. And wasn’t it so sad that daddy had to work on his birthday? Harry fell for it, the sucker. Even after they both scolded her a bit for the white lie, they had quite the fake birthday celebration. Ev and Harry even sang him a new song as Zayn stuffed his face with cake.

But Zayn tries to keep the last and newest part of himself locked away, the Zayn is he when it's just the two of them, alone. They’re friends. He sees Harry on a few Ev-less nights and weekends, laughs with him, enjoys his company as much as ever. They play Scrabble and dominoes. Zayn hears all about Harry’s upcoming project with a band from Florida. He watches the way Harry’s mouth moves when he says words like “eloquent” and “cadence.” It does something to Zayn, good vocabulary and pretty lips. In fact, Harry offhandedly calls someone “loquacious” one night over pad Thai, and Zayn almost nuts off in his jeans.

Zayn tries his best. He pushes. He separates into the different versions of himself, depending on the day.

 

***

 

It snows the Saturday before Harry is due to fly back home to California for the holidays, just a few days before Christmas. Zayn is awoken at four in the morning, when his phone starts buzzing next to his face. He shoots up like a fucking rocket, the adrenaline surging, _where is Evie, is she okay, what’s wrong?_ He quickly remembers that it’s not a late night emergency involving Ev, because he has Ev. She’s asleep in the next room.

“Harry?” he mumbles into the phone, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey,” Harry says in a whisper, even though they’re talking on the phone and not next to each other in bed. Zayn bets Harry would be lovely to sleep next to. Warm.

“What’s going on? What is it?”

“It’s snowing.”

“Okay…”

Zayn waits, listening for Harry’s breathing.

“I told Ev I’d take her out in the snow.”

“It’s late though.”

“Technically it’s early.”

“Harry,” Zayn sighs, resigned and already shifting the blankets.

“I can be there in ten minutes?” Harry says, probably smiling ear to ear. Zayn can hear it. Harry’s smile makes a sound.

“You want me to wake her up? To play in the snow?”

“I knew you’d come around,” Harry says with a laugh. “Unlock the door.”

He hangs up the phone before Zayn can fight him on it. Zayn should honestly go back to sleep and send Harry a text in a few hours, when he’s boarding the plane, to not be a twat in the middle of the night next time.

But because Zayn is a fucking push over, and completely wrapped around Harry’s fucking finger, he quietly gets up and heads to the living room. He unlocks the door with a scowl on his face.

Then he goes to Ev. She’s tucked in her little bed under a mound of blankets, her thumb in her mouth. She likes to say she doesn’t suck on it anymore, since she’s not a baby. But she’s never seen herself sleep. She still does it anytime she naps, too.

“Baby,” Zayn whispers, kneeling on the floor next to her bed. “Evie, wake up.”

She begins to stir. Like a true Malik, it’ll take a few seconds.

“Ev, wake up.”

“Daddy?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“Babe, it’s snowing,” he smiles to her, running a finger along her nose and cheek. Perfect. Safe. _Mine mine mine._

“Snowing now?”

“There’s already a few inches outside,” Zayn whispers, his hand running through her hair. “You wanna go see it?”

Ev’s a big girl now, but she’s a baby again when like this. Kids always are, in those moments between sleep and awake. No matter how old a child gets, they’re back to being six months old when roused out of a deep sleep, back to an age when sleep comes and goes as easy as breathing. She blinks her eyes, still trying to adjust to the intrusion, trying to see Zayn in the dancing light of her fairy lamp.

A moment later, Zayn feels Harry’s hand on the back of his neck. Zayn shivers from head to toe, his entire body lighting up from the inside out. Harry’s here. He’s back. He only left a few hours before, but he’s finally back. _We missed you._

“Let’s go play in it,” Harry whispers, sitting on Ev’s bed. If Zayn shifted just right, he could lay his cheek down on Harry’s thigh. He’s so tempted. It’s right there. They lock eyes and Harry winks at him.

“It’s dark outside,” Ev says with a little stretch, before sitting up fully. Still only about half awake.

“It’s fun when it’s dark out, I promise,” Harry assures her, reaching for her hand. “We’ll get bundled up and go make a snow man. You want to?”

Ev looks at Harry and then at Zayn. She blinks a few times, before nodding. She smiles. Zayn goes to grab her winter clothes from her closet: her down coat, snow pants, boots. When he turns back around, Ev now sits on Harry’s lap, her head tucked against his chest. He’s tying her long chocolate curls up into pigtails, whispering about all the fun parts of snow, and how it’s only cold for a little bit. Ev listens and nods, her face serious, ready for it. He then tells Ev, very seriously, that they need to make sure to button her coat.

Zayn genuinely puts a hand to his chest, like a fucking thirteen-year-old girl with a crush.

Zayn likes Harry. He knows it. He recognizes it. And he can’t keep pretending like this part of himself can be put away for safe keeping until he can process it. He’s processed enough in the quiet confines of his bedroom, when he should be asleep. He’ll have to figure something out, a new plan of action, the right thing to say.

Ten minutes later, out in the little courtyard in between their apartments, Zayn and Harry each hold one of Ev’s hands. They tell her to look up. A dark sky, glittering with white specks. It’s like the entire city is still and silent. It’s just the three of them awake, looking up as the snow lightly falls around them. Ev shivers a bit, but she doesn’t look anywhere but towards the sky.

“See, it’s not so bad, is it,” Harry reaches for her, to hold her in his arms. “A little cold, but pretty.”

“Pretty,” she agrees, clinging to Harry, her mittened hands clasped tightly around his neck.

Zayn reaches for his phone so he can take a picture. He snaps one before they can see him do it: Harry and Ev, bundled up like two fluffy marshmallows, with snowflakes in their eyelashes, their cheeks pink.

He has the thought, as Harry holds his daughter close and whispers about snowflakes, that she’s happy. She looks truly happy. Taken care of, safe, growing up to be a smart, strong woman. Zayn knows he still doesn’t quite have the parental instincts Rachel has. He knows he has to work extra hard, to remember the right way to do things. He’s not always good with the details, or with calming her down when she’s upset or angry. He couldn’t navigate her Terrible Twos well, or keep the negative thoughts about her mother entirely away. He’s not a natural.

But at the end of the day, he’s her dad. And he is good at making her _happy_. He smiles to himself and walks over to take her from Harry’s arms, to bury his cold nose in her neck. She laughs and then smacks at his cheek.

After a bit of work, their snowman comes out perfectly. An old hat of Harry’s on his head, a stick for a nose. They name him Roger, after Ev’s silly grandpa. She says because it has a round belly like he does, and a mustache Harry makes out of rocks. They make sure it faces the front walkway so it can be enjoyed by all their neighbors, when they awaken from their deep slumbers in a few hours’ time.

Zayn looks up at Harry over Evelyn’s head, where she kneels in the snow and draws shapes in it with her mitten. Harry sniffs a bit, his nose running, but he smiles at him. And it’s then that Zayn knows, without any semblance of a doubt.

_You like me, too._

Harry must realize he’s been caught, because the smile slides right off his face. He stares at Zayn, unsure of what to say.

Zayn reaches for him with a swift arm, to loop it around his neck and pull him close. Harry goes willingly, falls against Zayn’s side, their temples touching. They stay close, they don’t pull apart. They don’t speak. They just watch Ev play in the snow. She looks like she fits right in, now that she’s given it a chance.

A few minutes later, Harry convinces Zayn and Ev to lay back in it, so they can make angels. It gets all down the back of Zayn’s sweater and coat, and he almost curses. But Ev seems to enjoy it, giggling as she flaps her arms and legs around in it.

“Daddy, I like the snow!” she says finally, catching her breath.

“Me too,” he agrees.

To his left, Harry reaches for his hand and squeezes. Zayn doesn’t look over at him, and keeps his eyes up towards the sky. But he squeezes back.

 

***

 

Once Ev is back in her bed, sound asleep once more, Zayn and Harry stand outside her bedroom door and watch her. They had helped her remove her coat and snow pants, her little toes too cold, as she jumped back into her bed. Harry actually grabbed her feet and pretended to bite her toes off, one by one, and she laughed so hard she kicked him in the face twice. They then each grabbed a foot, and rubbed at them to warm them up, and she kicked them _both_ in the face.

But now she’s back asleep, to get some more rest before the sun comes up. Rachel will be by in a few hours, since Zayn doesn’t get her for the full day. She has to go with Rachel to Christmas shop for various family members. Zayn should soak up as much time as he can with her now.

He just wishes he could focus.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he whispers, facing Harry.

Harry looks away from Ev, to meet his eye.

“About what?”

Zayn levels him with a look. God, Harry is a dick sometimes. Zayn stalks past him and back into the darkened living room. The only light comes from the tree, red and white and green strings of them. Zayn can’t help but stare at the ornament Ev made in school the week before: a little reindeer face, with a squiggly red nose. It hits him that she brought it home to him, to hang on his tree, and not the one at her real house. Something explodes in his chest, like an old cherry bomb shoved into a mailbox.

Harry settles next to him.

“About what, Zayn?” he asks, voice firm.

“About… this. You. And me.”

“Us?”

“Yeah.”

Harry crosses his arms and tilts his head a bit, taking in Zayn’s red cheeks and tousled hair. The sleep he probably didn’t rub from his eyes. The wrinkles in his shirt and shitty sweatpants he can’t seem to get rid of. He probably looks like a mess, standing next to Harry in his tight jeans and open shirt even in the dead of winter.

“There’s an us?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn exhales, readying himself. “There is.”

“But you’re straight.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“You have an ex-wife.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m straight. I’m… in the middle somewhere. I’m… maybe I’m everything all at once.”

Harry loses his cool a bit, becoming flustered. He steps away from Zayn and fucks his hair up even more, it flying around him to the left, and then to the right. He can’t decide how it should sit. He mumbles something to himself, pacing.

“I… You were straight. I didn’t… We don’t…”

Zayn, ever the problem solver and one to get what he wants, reaches for Harry’s wrist. He pulls him close, Harry’s feet stumbling and then knocking into his own, until suddenly they’re sharing the same air. Zayn can smell Harry’s breath. He looks down and realizes that Harry has his nails painted. Purple. He smiles and looks up. He sees the piece of hair fall from behind his ear, the tight little braid there. Ev's been practicing. They'll probably have to cut it out with scissors. Zayn bites his lip and touches a light finger to it. Harry just watches the movement with tired eyes.

They don’t say anything else, thank fucking god for that. Zayn just grips Harry’s wide-open face between his palms and kisses him. It’s like a fucking nuclear bomb goes off in Zayn’s chest, as he tastes Harry for the first time. Lips and tongue, wet heat, Harry’s hands finding Zayn’s face and neck.

It’s delicious, kissing another man. It’s rougher as they pull at each other, hair scratching his chin, Harry’s chest hair between his fingers. _I’m so fucking gay_ , Zayn thinks, almost laughing to himself.

“Jesus,” Harry says in a harsh whisper. “I swear…”

“Yeah,” Zayn pants against his mouth.

“I still have to pack,” Harry says with a slight smile, before quickly pecking Zayn’s upper lip, his cupid’s bow, the highest point of his cheekbone. “Shit.”

Zayn laughs at Harry being the unprepared one. For once.

“You should go do that then,” he says, hands on Harry’s hips. He pulls him closer though, not able to let him go just yet, and feels Harry’s dick against his own. It’s hot. It feels like they’re standing next to a raging fireplace, instead of an uneven Christmas tree with twinkling lights.

“Give me a minute,” Harry shakes his head, kissing him again.

Harry bites at him then, makes this sound into Zayn’s mouth that he swears goes straight to his growing erection. Zayn pushes back, reveling in the feeling of another human being in his grasp again. He doesn’t have to be careful or sweet with it. He doesn’t remember the last time he kissed Rachel, but it was probably when he felt like he had to. This is a thousand times better than any girl he’s made out with, and _yep, very, very gay._

“Sort of wish you could stay,” Zayn admits, finally breaking them apart. The sun has started to come up, slowly over the roof of their little building.

Harry kisses him one last time, before stepping towards the front door. He rubs at his chin, from the friction, and wipes his mouth. His cheeks, pink from the snow and the blood rush, look beautiful in this light.

“Tell Ev I’ll miss her,” Harry smiles at him. “And that I hope she likes her present.”

Zayn whips his head around to the tree, where a new box sits. God, Harry can be such a sneak. There it sits, black wrapping paper and a black bow, because Harry is ridiculous and pretentious, his present having to be edgy and distinct next to the “boring” red and green paper.

“What about my present?” Zayn asks, crossing his arms.

“You’ll get your present when I’m back next month. A Christmas-slash-birthday combo. A real two-fer.”

“Is it big?” Zayn says with a slow, wicked grin.

“Very.”

“How big?”

“You’re disgusting. Go to sleep. Have good dreams.”

“Oh I will,” Zayn nods. “I definitely will.”

Harry looks like he wants to laugh. He looks like he wants to turn back around and smack Zayn’s arm, or maybe kiss him, or maybe shove at him. But he doesn’t, he just glares at Zayn and then walks out of the door. In the few steps it takes him to get to his front door, his coat is already covered in small, delicate snowflakes.

At the last second, he turns around. They lock eyes through Zayn’s open window. Zayn waves. Harry waves. And frowns. Zayn has the vague thought that he might not see Harry again for a while, and it aches somewhere deep down.

Harry tries to smile, but his face goes all twitchy and bewildered, and then fast as anything, he’s back inside.

 

***

 

Christmas Eve with Ev is perfect. Zayn’s family can’t make it into town at all over their winter breaks, so they spend it just the two of them. Chinese take-out. Hot chocolate in their jammies. Presents.

Zayn can’t buy her much, but he gets her a few great gifts. A dollhouse. A book about the Great Barrier Reef. Art supplies. A stuffed monkey like the one he used to have as a kid.

But the biggest hit is Harry’s gift: a pink ukulele with her name etched on the front.

When he hands her off to Rachel later that night, Ev is fast asleep. Rach takes a look around his little apartment, at the decorations and the lit candle that smells like sugar cookies, and she smiles. She even kisses him on the cheek for a job well done.

Then they’re gone, leaving Zayn alone for the next few weeks.

He signs the finalized divorce papers on New Year’s Eve.

He drinks a few glasses of whiskey there on his couch, watching old episodes of “Master Chef” in nothing but his boxers.

He texts Harry over and over, but doesn’t get a reply.

And then the clock strikes midnight and it’s no longer December. It’s a new year entirely.

Maybe it’s another new beginning.

 

 

   


	2. The Life Cycle of a Blue Crab in the Chesapeake Bay

 ***

 

** January **

 

At exactly 12:07, seven minutes into the New Year after the big ball drop, Zayn’s phone lights up.

He jolts, his beer sloshing a bit, as he realizes he had started to doze after the clock struck midnight. There he was, alone in his boxers, drowning his melancholy in imported beer, like an emotional teenager. He can hear people cheering in other apartments, pots banging, and music being played. He scowls and thinks it’s at least better than what he saw on TV. That was the normal fanfare, the confetti that drifted down onto the people in Times Square. Couples kissing, the sound of champagne bottles popping, strangers in a crowd connecting. It was a tad boring and a lot depressing.

His phone vibrates against his thigh, like it’s angry at him for taking so long to locate it.

Zayn, even in his annoyed stupor at being ignored by Harry for days on end, can’t help but grin sheepishly as he answers.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hiiii,” Harry practically screams.

Zayn can’t make out the sounds in the background, but it’s probably the same as Times Square, wherever Harry’s run off to: couples kissing, champagne bottles popping, strangers connecting.

“Where are you?” Zayn wonders.

“I’minna condo,” Harry slurs and hiccups at the same time. “The beach.”

“That’s fun.”

“Where are you?” Harry asks.

“My couch.”

“Why aren’t you having fun? Why aren’t you – ” he hiccups, “with Evie? You should be with fun people or with Evie.”

“She’s with Rach. Out of town.”

“Out of town is stupid,” Harry says with a sigh, suddenly in a quiet space. It’s jarring the way Zayn can hear his breathing again, the movements of his body as he bumps into a piece of furniture in that far off room.

“Where are you?” Zayn tries again, to pinpoint where Harry’s head is at.

“I’minna room now. It’s a bedroom. Shay’s friend’s brother’s house. And it’s really fancy and we had dinner in their fancy dining room and I didn’t know which fork to stab myself with.”

Zayn snorts and sets his beer down on the floor. He scratches at his stomach, his eyes falling slightly, and settles further into the couch. Maybe he’ll sleep there. Maybe he won’t move for another week, since he doesn’t have to.

“Zaaayn,” Harry whines.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna puke.”

“Might make you feel better.”

“No it won’t.”

“Go drink some water.”

_“No.”_

Zayn waits. Harry’s trying to say something.

“I just…” Harry says with a big exhale, like the ones a drunk person makes before falling asleep. It’s like the body thinking it can get rid of the alcohol by sheer exhale. Bodies are stupid. He exhales a second time, like he’s exhausted, and he must be in some stranger’s bed. Zayn has to press a hand to his face when Harry says, “I want to tell you something.”

“Tell me what,” Zayn says quietly. He hasn’t forgotten the fact that he’s been texting Harry since he spent Christmas Day alone eating leftover eggrolls and chow mein. They kissed and then Harry left. Radio silence.

“I miss you,” Harry admits.

Zayn doesn’t respond. He waits.

“I saw your texts and I was going to text back and be all cute and charming, I swear. But I just… I didn’t and I couldn’t and I fucking miss you.”

Zayn frowns.

“It’s like… I miss you. And I don’t miss _anyone_. _Ever_.”

Zayn still doesn’t respond.

“That means something, doesn’t it,” Harry sighs, resigned to his fate. Zayn envisions him kicking off his boots and tucking himself into the strange bed in that strange room, his phone stuck to his face.

“Yeah,” Zayn finally says. “I think it does.”

“Do you miss me?”

“Yeah, I miss you.”

“I’m home next week. I’ll be home and then you’ll let me inside, right? You won’t be mad?”

“No.”

“And you’ll kiss me again like last time? I’ll answer all your texts and I won’t talk to these girls anymore and I won’t freak out and we’ll kiss more and I’ll tell Ev you’re the best dad. Just… the best.”

Zayn pulls the blanket from the back of the couch down over his chest, suddenly chilly. Harry goes quiet on the other end of the line, now doing a bit of waiting of his own.

Zayn thinks about it. He can’t hear anyone outside anymore. No more noise. There aren’t any fireworks or celebrations. It’s like that night out in the snow, when it was just Zayn, Harry and Ev. The world has gone quiet.

Harry makes a sound, a tiny sound like he’s nuzzling into a pillow. And Zayn’s heart physically aches in his chest.

Zayn can’t be mad. The guy he kissed before Christmas is the same guy whose parents fucked him up. Harry, with his drive and determination to flee conflict, the one who topples into bed with random guys and girls because he craves the detached intimacy, just needed a minute to get his head on straight. And look at him now: he wanted to text back, but didn’t know how. He wants to spend the rest of his New Year’s Eve alone, on the phone with Zayn. It’s not even midnight on the west coast.

Zayn really fucking misses him.

“How about,” Zayn says, turning his face into his pillow, to match Harry, “the next time you freak out over something, you come to me.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t leave me hanging. Just… talk to me. Come sit by me, and we’ll do what we do: we’ll do a puzzle and talk it out.”

“Okay,” Harry says, probably with a dumb smile. “I got a good one in my game closet. You’ll see it when I’m home. It’s of a rain forest and it looks really hard. You’ll love it.”

“Deal.”

“I fucking miss you,” Harry finishes with another exhale. “I miss you so much and I can’t wait to touch you again.”

Zayn flashes to them tangled up together, naked and writhing. How it’ll feel, to touch Harry, to have Harry touch him in return, to come so hard his eyes cross. Maybe it was always inevitable. Maybe Harry was just waiting for Zayn to catch up, and then he did, much to Harry’s surprise.

“Yeah alright, H,” Zayn chuckles. “Go to sleep.”

“You wanna touch me too? Fuck, I bet your hand would look so good around my dick, babe. The tattooed one.”

“The one with Ev’s initials?”

“Fucking Christ, Zayn,” Harry squawks.

Zayn laughs into his pillow.

“Go to sleep.”

 _“You_ go to sleep,” Harry scoffs.

“Hang up the phone, Harry.”

“Alright fine. Bye.”

“Night.”

By 12:31, Zayn has a blanket pulled up over his face. They’re miles away from each other, and he’s still alone. He doesn’t have a friend to hang out with, or his kid tucked into her bed safe and sound. He’s broke, officially divorced, and found a grey hair the day before.

But Harry admitted how he felt, sort of. And even though Zayn’s newly gay and sort of a mess some days, it’s a good start to the year.

He tries to school his face, to get a grip and go to sleep. But he ends up grinning into the blanket like a fucking thirteen-year-old girl with a crush.

 

***

 

“Hey babe,” Zayn coos over the phone, reaching into the fridge for the milk. He needs to finish it before it goes bad. He needs food, what with the way he’s holed himself up for the last six days, writing to the point that the tips of his fingers hurt. If he looks at his laptop again, it’ll be all too soon.

“I played in the snow today, daddy!” Ev screeches. She still feels like she needs to scream anytime she speaks to someone on the phone or over Skype. Zayn pulls the phone away from his face for a second, laughing.

“Did you make another angel?”

“I made so many angels,” she gasps, probably running in circles around Rach.

“That’s good.”

“Morgan and David and Georgie, we made a big fort and I crawled inside it and we had a battle in there.”

“That sounds fun.”

Ev has more cousins than he can keep up with, he swears it.

“Mommy came inside it, too. And she said it was too cold, but I told her it’s only cold for a few minutes like Harry says. And I told Morgan and David and Georgie, I said, ‘My daddy loves the snow too, and so does Harry, and I bet I’ll make a fort when I go back to their house.’”

Zayn smiles, completely enamored with his daughter, while at the same time aching to see her. He knew after Christmas Eve that he wouldn’t see her for a while, but he reminds himself that he’ll have her the next morning. And for a whole week before school starts up again.

She tells him about her aunt and the cookies she made as he sits at his kitchen table. The afternoon light filters in as he pours the milk into his stale cereal. He’s hungry. He didn’t really eat the day before. In his excitement, a few drops of milk splash up onto his t-shirt.

“Shit,” he whispers to himself, trying to suck it out.

“What?” Ev wonders, still out of breath, running around her aunt’s house.

“Nothing.”

“Daddy, I want you to come here.”

“I can’t, babe. I gotta work. But you’ll be home tomorrow. And then you get to come play at my house.”

“Oh, okay.”

Just then, a knock comes from the front door. Zayn freezes mid-chew.

“Daddy, I have my book. I want to read about the big reef with you,” she singsongs. Zayn hears Rachel in the background asking her to wrap it up.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, distracted. He leaves his barely eaten cereal on the table and heads towards the front door. “We’ll read it.”

“Will you do the voice for the fish?”

Zayn wrenches his old door open, to see Harry Styles on the other side of it. He smiles so wide, his cheeks red and frozen, two bags over his broad shoulders. Fresh from the airport. He didn’t even go home first.

“Yeah, babe. I’ll do the voice,” Zayn says in the phone with a huge smile of his own.

“I _love_ the voice. That’s the _best_ voice you do, daddy.”

“Ev, guess who’s here?”

“Who?”

Harry steps inside, shuffling his feet to get the snow off his boots. Zayn lets him move around the living room, dropping his belongings, tossing his coat off.

Zayn bites his lip and stares Harry down.

“Harry’s home.”

“Harry!” she screams.

Zayn shrugs his shoulders and laughs. He hands the phone to Harry before Harry can forcibly grab it from his hand, like he so clearly wants to. He even shimmies his hips a bit, as he lifts it to his ear, beside himself with glee.

“Toots!”

Zayn hears her squeal something unintelligible on the other end of their call, off in Connecticut with her mom and family. Harry turns away from him, to face the tree and play with a branch between his long fingers. He asks Ev about her Christmas presents, if she loved the ukulele, and if she’s being a good girl. He says he met Santa on his vacation and that he only had good things to say about Evelyn Malik.

Ev screams something again, and Harry says he misses her.

Zayn can’t help it. He walks forward, to wrap himself around Harry. He drapes himself over Harry’s back, puts his face into the fabric over his shoulder blade, and inhales. Harry relaxes right into his touch, like he’s been waiting for it ever since they met. He holds Zayn’s arms around his stomach, and tells Ev that yes, they will most definitely make a snow fort once she’s back.

They stay tucked together, as Ev rattles off more about all the fun she’s having.

“Alright, toots. Here’s your daddy again,” Harry ends up chuckling, placing the phone in Zayn’s hand over his hipbone.

Zayn stays put, even as he finishes the call with Ev. He says he loves her, with his lips still in Harry’s shirt like he’s sucking milk out of it.

“So do I,” Harry reminds Zayn in a quiet voice, to tell her.

“Harry loves you, too,” Zayn says to Ev, his heart aching.

“Bye daddy and Harry!” she finishes. The call ends, so Zayn shoves his phone back into his sweatpants pocket. He still doesn’t move.

Harry runs his fingernails along Zayn’s forearms. He lets Zayn feel him, the press of their bodies together, a firm man under Zayn’s hands after a lifetime of soft women.

“Are we gonna stay like this all day, then?” Harry says out into the room.

Zayn kisses at his back.

“Not all day.”

“You get one more minute,” Harry says, holding his arms harder. “And then I need to piss and eat something.”

“I don’t have any food.”

Harry snorts a laugh.

“I’m not surprised.”

Zayn finally lets him go, so that Harry can turn around to face him again. He’s tan, which looks a tad ridiculous there in east coast winter weather. His hair is a tangled mess, in need of a wash. A bit of shine to his face, a blemish on his chin. But he’s fucking beautiful. Pretty.

“Did you miss me?” Harry smiles, reading Zayn’s mind.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Even though you didn’t text me.”

Harry frowns as he grips Zayn’s hips.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Harry steps closer, their faces only a centimeter apart.

“Can I make it up to you?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll order us food, and get you all stuffed like a turkey,” Harry whispers, kissing each of Zayn’s cheeks. “And then we’ll make out for an hour or seven.”

“Deal.”

“But first,” Harry says, his voice full and serious, stepping away from Zayn entirely. “I need to pee.”

Zayn snorts a laugh as Harry leaves him there in the living room, his scent lingering as he stomps his way down the short hallway to the bathroom. Zayn doesn’t really know what to do with himself, now that Harry is officially back. They’re… a thing now. They can’t hide behind holiday travel plans or keep their mouths shut because of Ev and her young ears. Zayn needs to figure out what he wants to say, or gauge Harry further. Even if he can get to the root of how Harry feels, he’ll have to do the same for himself. What does Zayn even want to happen? There are so many decisions to make.

Zayn shakes his head and decides to let himself enjoy Harry’s company first, to ignore the conversation they’ll eventually need to have.

Before, he wasn’t able to kiss or touch Harry. Now he can. So now he’ll make the most of it.

 

***

 

It’s a true testament to who Harry is, and how well he knows Zayn, when instead of immediately jumping his bones, he hands Zayn a sponge with a smile. It was as Harry loudly washed his hands in the bathroom that Zayn actually looked around at his disgusting apartment and nearly shuddered.

He’s supposed to be an adult, a father with a savings account and good health insurance. And yet when left to his own devices for a week, his home becomes a fucking pigsty. The sink overflows with dishes, there are clothes draped over every piece of furniture imaginable, and there’s definitely some sort of weird _film_ on the coffee table Zayn can’t quite identify. Beer bottles everywhere. Dust in every corner. The Christmas decorations now just look limp and sad on this side of the New Year. Definitely time for a clean sweep.

Harry shakes his head at Zayn, as he grabs another sponge of his own, and gets to work.

They clean the apartment room by room, side by side, somehow always finding excuses to touch. They share a pizza in between using Harry’s vacuum because Zayn still doesn’t have one, and sweeping the bathroom floor with Harry’s broom. Actually, they use Harry’s mop and laundry detergent as well. Harry tells Zayn all about his trip and the fun people he met along the way. Harry doesn’t like to stay put for too long, so even when it started as one destination, “mostly for work in LA, I swear,” he actually ended up in Tijuana for a few days. Zayn just shakes his head, at how ridiculous Harry can be. The man actually slept in a bathtub one night, in some motel he can’t remember the English name of.

But Harry insists he missed Zayn the whole time, even when he didn’t text back like a jackass who was nervous to miss someone.

Zayn keeps quiet for most of the day, since he doesn’t have much to contribute. He’s also a bit distracted, whenever he picks up one of Ev’s tutus or puts away another stuffed animal she happened to leave him. She said once, that she wanted him to have friends to play with, when she was at her mom’s. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that no person, or stuffed bear, could fill the void.

He catches himself smiling, every time he remembers having her for a full week uninterrupted.

“How excited are you?” Harry calls him on it later that night, when they’re both stripped down to their sweats standing at the sink. Zayn washes each dish, before handing it to Harry to dry.

Zayn knows exactly what Harry means, and remembers the grocery store, how he nearly vibrated with it. Seeing Ev again.

“Very.”

“When will she be here?”

“Tomorrow. She’s still on break from school, so I get six days in a row,” Zayn says with a small smile, scrubbing at a plate.

“She’ll be so happy.”

Zayn nods.

“I hope you know,” Harry says, suddenly frowning and serious. “That if you don’t make me leave… I won’t.”

“So I’m stuck with you for days on end now?”

“Yeah,” Harry turns to him fully, his face blank. “You are.”

Zayn nods.

“Well then I guess you’re stuck with me, too.”

Harry drops the plate he’s holding back into the soapy water, causing Zayn to whine slightly. They’re almost done, damn it. And now he’s going to have to rinse it all over again. But then that thought is long forgotten, when Harry grips his chin and turns his face towards his own. Zayn’s in the middle of the kiss before he can even register it, his body falling against Harry. Their bare chests touch and Zayn feels Harry’s left nipple perk up against his own. He has to grip Harry’s hair hard for that one, his body reacting almost violently to Harry’s touch.

They groan into each other’s mouths, hands scrambling like they can’t get enough, soapy water dripping onto the floor. Harry pushes at Zayn, his fingers quick on his hips, shoulders, hands, to move Zayn out into the living room.

Zayn falls back onto the couch right as Harry drops to his knees in between his legs. He leans in and grips Zayn’s knees, like he’s trying to feel Zayn’s pulse. Zayn can’t stop touching, it’s been so fucking long since he’s touched anyone, and it’s Harry, a man, a fucking _man_ , and he feels a throb in his groin. Harry must sense it, because he sneaks a hand between them, holds Zayn’s dick through his sweats, and squeezes. Zayn gasps for air, his eyes almost crossing, but not quite.

“Want me to?” Harry whispers, mouth moving from Zayn’s ear down his neck, little pecks and bites like Zayn’s skin is his favorite fruit on a hot summer day.

“Fuck,” Zayn answers, his firm hand insistent as he pushes Harry’s head down.

Harry smirks at him, but lets Zayn shove his face further south, as if Zayn has any semblance of control in this situation. They both know it’s a farce. But that’s Harry: letting Zayn have what he needs in any given moment.

Zayn uses his other hand to move his sweats and briefs down his thighs, just enough for his cock to bob out and slap against his stomach. He watches Harry through hooded eyes, to see him take it in. Cut, thick, just waiting for Harry to take it.

Harry literally licks his lips.

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles, feeding the head of it into Harry’s mouth.

And then Harry sucks him off like he’s being paid for it. Like he has something to prove. And maybe for Harry, he does. He knows he’s the first guy to do it, the only man to look up through his eyelashes to see Zayn’s face above him. Zayn gets off on it, the look Harry has in that moment, as his mouth moves up and down on him.

Zayn has to touch, has to feel it, the sweat of Harry’s forehead, the tears in the corners of his eyes, the spit. It’s wet and messy, disgusting really, in that way that isn’t at all disgusting. Zayn feels like he’s about to implode from within, his orgasm already knocking on the door. It’s been so long.

“Babe,” he whispers, hips coming up off the couch.

Harry actually tries to speak, his vocal chords muffled by Zayn’s cock bumping into them, and he gags a bit. Zayn curses, he fucking _loves_ that sound, and holds Harry’s hair tighter.

“S’been… a while,” Zayn tries again, as a warning. He bucks his hips up twice more, harsher, faster. And Harry just takes it. Jesus Christ, Harry takes it. His jaw loosens further, he relaxes against Zayn’s thighs and the couch. He fucking melts, like he’s trying to latch himself to Zayn’s legs.

Then out of no where, he brings both of his hands up Zayn’s thighs, towards his hips and waist, all the way up to his chest. He feels Zayn’s nipples, his clavicle, sternum. He feels everything and everywhere all at once, like he’s trying to figure Zayn’s puzzles pieces out. _Feel the ridges, make them match up. Find the corners first._

Zayn loses it when Harry runs a thumbnail over his right nipple, and at the same time, looks up at Zayn with wet eyes. Zayn curses, a string of them, something horrific if his mother ever heard, and comes in Harry’s mouth. He mumbles again, tries to say sorry, or thank you, or maybe something sweet.

Harry doesn’t respond, or try to ease himself up and off of Zayn’s lap. He stays put, sucks a bit, licks at the head like a fucking tease. He doesn’t even try to move away, until Zayn pulls his hair hard enough.

Harry wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, still on his knees.

“Holy shit,” Zayn says with a slow smirk, suddenly exhausted, his bones practically made of rubber.

Harry bites his lip and stares him down, his eyes black. He reaches into his sweatpants and Zayn realizes he’s not wearing boxers. It’s just bare skin under there. He pulls his dick out and makes Zayn watch his hand as he jerks himself off. They settle into the moment together, as they both hold their breath.

“Can I come on you?” Harry says, at his breaking point. He doesn’t even wait for an answer, already crawling up onto Zayn’s thighs.

Zayn nods, dumbly.

But he doesn’t want it to be easy. Or fair. He’s still Zayn, stubborn and an asshole and too proud to let himself be a prop. So he smirks a second time, really lays it on thick, and pushes at Harry until Harry is awkwardly laying underneath him on his secondhand couch. It’s fucking filthy, to mess around on the couch in his living room, something he never dared to try to with Rach. Their leather couches were too nice, she always said so.

Zayn licks his palm and reaches down to grip Harry’s dick in his hand. It’s big, hot to the touch and leaking. He leans over Harry on the other hand, his hair falling in his eyes. He must look like sin, he knows it, he knows Harry knows it.

Harry bites his lip again, making it plump up red and angry.

“I need…” he tries to say, his stomach tensing up.

Zayn loves that he has Harry like this, unable to speak coherently. Zayn almost tells Harry to rattle off some big words, to really fuck him up, maybe to get himself hard again. But he just smiles and watches Harry careen off the ledge, his entire body contracting in odd intervals. He goes with his instinct, grips Harry like he’d grip himself: tighter on the upstroke, sloppy down by his balls.

“Fuck,” Harry grunts, his eyes snapping shut.

“Shit,” Zayn can’t help but mutter, finally looking away from Harry’s face, down to his pulsing cock.

Zayn can’t believe it’s his hand jerking someone off, another dude’s jizz all over his tattooed fingers. It’s warm and sticky, and he vaguely thinks he’d rather not taste it just yet. He just works Harry over, slowing down some, as Harry’s breath levels out.

He looks back up from his hand, to see Harry smiling at him.

“Good?” Harry says, blowing the hair off his forehead.

“Good,” Zayn nods, smiling.

“I gotta, like,” Harry gestures to his stomach, where a few drops of come fell, and to Zayn’s hand. “Let’s go clean up.”

But Zayn just lifts his hand up, to examine it a bit.

“Should make you swallow it,” Zayn says with a shit-eating grin, wiggling his fingers closer to Harry’s face. “Be a good boy?”

“You’re disgusting!” Harry howls with laughter, shoving Zayn’s face away from his own.

They end up stumbling to the bathroom instead, Harry refusing to ingest his own come. He grips Zayn in a headlock halfway down the hall and calls him disgusting about twelve more times. They almost fall over just about as many times, with their sweatpants pooled around their ankles like fucking idiots.

 

***

 

The banging on the door jolts Zayn awake way too quickly. His head swims, little birdies flying around it, as he sits up in bed and tries to open his eyes. His first thought, as always, smacks him across the face: _where is Ev, is she safe, what’s wrong?_ The light filtering in through the blinds to his right doesn’t give away any specific time of day, and he doesn’t have Ev, so if something were wrong with her, it’d be his phone ringing.

“What is it?” Harry mumbles to Zayn’s left, face under a pillow.

Oh right. Harry.

Harry in Zayn’s bed. Harry, fucked out and naked, after Zayn made him come a second time the night before, because Harry slept over. They officially had a sleepover, two young-ish men who couldn’t stop touching and feeling. Zayn felt it all, the way Harry moved underneath him, the arch of his back when Zayn kissed him just so beneath his ear, his fingernails in Zayn’s skin when he lost control. Zayn’s good with his hands, what can he say.

“Go get the door,” Harry mumbles again, slightly louder, and definitely more annoyed.

Zayn scratches at his temple, smoothing the hair of his side burn, confused.

And then it dawns on him.

“Holy… fucking…” Zayn hisses, suddenly up and out of the bed. “Shit!”

He frantically tries to find clothing, any clothing, a fucking trash bag if that’s what it takes. Anything to not be naked. He throws on a pair of shorts and eventually finds an old sweatshirt he thinks may have been his dad’s tucked in the corner.

“Harry, listen to me,” Zayn says unevenly, trying to wrestle the sweatshirt over his head. “Do not, under any circumstances, leave this room.”

Harry, sensing the tension, sits up and tries to look at Zayn with one half-opened eye.

“Okay,” he croaks with a frown.

Zayn tries to close his bedroom door quietly, the knocking from the front door getting progressively louder. He schools his face, smooths his hair, tries to seem calm and collected.

He finally gets the deadbolt slid open, and then there she is.

“Daddy!” Ev says with a smile, leaping into his arms.

“Hiya, babe,” Zayn replies, like he’s totally fine and not at all nervous for his ex-wife to see a _man_ in his apartment at such an early hour.

Rachel slides in past them, a father and daughter in the throws of an epic “I haven’t seen you in so long” hug, and looks around at the space. Zayn did good, he thinks. Cleaned up, put away the holiday decorations in a reasonable amount of time, made sure the place looked inviting for Ev to stay over for a week.

No beer bottles, it didn’t smell, definitely not any naked men walking around because Zayn had forgotten when Rachel and Ev would be by.

“Happy New Year,” Rachel says with a tilt of her head cordially. She grips her purse in her hands though, tightly, which means she’s holding onto some tension somewhere. Zayn eyes her, but bounces Ev a bit on his hip, and pretends to almost drop her as a distraction.

“I brought my presents!” Ev says suddenly, wiggling down out of Zayn’s arms. She reaches for the bag Rachel set on the couch, much bigger than her normal weekend backpack, and starts pulling random toys and clothes out of it.

“Took you long enough,” Rachel whispers, as the two of them step away from Ev. She nods to the door, to Zayn being an idiot and not answering right away.

“Was brushing my teeth,” Zayn lies, crossing his arms, looking at Ev.

“You’re lying.”

“Lay off, Rachel,” Zayn says icily.

“Zayn…” she starts, sighing, like she’s about to put him in Time Out, like he’s a child.

“What?” he hisses.

Rachel actually glances up then, towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. Like she’s waiting for something. But then she turns to him, as Ev drops a doll with a thud near the couch. She starts giggling about being clumsy.

Rachel stares Zayn down, and even reaches a hand out. To grip his arm, like a friend would.

“Just remember that whoever you invite in here, into your home… you’re inviting them to be around Ev. You’re letting them get close to her. And if they decide to go away, or leave _you_ … they’re leaving her, too.”

Zayn gapes at her, at a loss.

Rachel leaves him to his thoughts, to grab for Ev and hug her goodbye. They whisper about nightly phone calls, being good for daddy, making sure to clean up her toys whenever daddy says so. And then Ev runs into the kitchen, because she likes to open the fridge like a big girl, even though she’s supposed to ask first.

Zayn scratches at his hair, as Rachel heads toward the door.

She steps outside and at the last second, glances down to the pair of ridiculous brown boots near the coffee table. Zayn’s entire face becomes engulfed in flames, red and angry ones, at being caught.

“Tell Harry I say hello,” she finishes.

And then she’s gone, leaving Zayn to pick up the pieces as always. He watches her through the window, as she heads across the courtyard with her purse and coat clutched between her long, slender fingers to fight the chill. She looks good, healthier than she has over the last year of ups and downs. Stronger.

Zayn wonders what _he_ looks like now, after all that’s happened.

But then three seconds later, he’s no longer Zayn the writer or Zayn the sort-of-fuck-buddy to Harry Styles, wondering how he looks in the aftermath of a divorce. He’s Zayn the father again, with the clean apartment and safety latches on his kitchen cabinets. Ev is Number One, the most important thing in his world. So he shuffles into the kitchen and forgets any weirdness, or worry, and grabs for his kid. He lifts her over his head and pretends to fly her around the kitchen and then into her bedroom, because they were apart for a week. And he wants to hear all about it.

Because as always, it all comes down to the fact that Zayn is good at compartmentalizing. He takes the part of his brain that says _you need to make sure he’s sticking around,_ and he sets that box aside until he can delve into it further.

 

***

 

Harry, the very smart man that he is, waits a bit before making himself known. Zayn has a full hour with Ev, alone in her bedroom, tucked under a blanket with her Great Barrier Reef book. He even does the silly voice she loves so much, whenever she spots an especially funny-looking fish. She points at them, with her tiny fingers covered in blue nail polish, and asks him over and over to make them talk.

In between pages, Zayn asks Ev about her cousins and what her favorite part of her trip was. They had so many desserts and played so many fun games. She told everyone how her daddy has a new house now, and how he made her a second bedroom with a light that sent fairies dancing on the ceiling.

Zayn thinks he might be smothering her just a bit, but every few seconds, he’ll pull her even closer. He kisses her cheeks, smooths her hair. But then she tells him about a weird tree she saw, or a kitten her aunt adopted and how cute it was, and then he’s kissing her cheeks and smoothing her hair all over again.

But Ev doesn’t complain. She must’ve missed Zayn just as much, as she clings to him and asks if he loved having all her teddies to play with while she was gone. She stares up at him with wide eyes, hopeful and sad all at once, thinking about her daddy being by himself. He actually grabs for one of her teddy bears and holds it close, kissing its nose so she knows he had company.

And then Zayn tells his daughter, very seriously, that she’s the nicest and most genuine person he knows.

“I agree,” Harry says tentatively, pushing the door open a little. He sticks his head in, fully dressed as if he had walked over from his own apartment, and smiles at Ev.

“Harry!” Ev screams, jumping up and out of Zayn’s embrace, to bound off her little twin bed. Zayn should probably talk to her about jumping off of furniture, or out of his arms as often as she does, lest she fall and crack her skull open. Or maybe he’ll just put her in gymnastics and harness her fearlessness for good.

“Toots!” Harry giggles, catching her in midair. “How ya been?”

“I’m so good.”

“That’s good.”

Zayn watches them with a smile, his stomach flopping over like it’s somersaulting down a hill. It’s different now, to see Ev so taken with Harry. When Harry was just a friend, a nice neighbor to help babysit, he could watch with careful fascination. He could see Harry and be grateful.

Now he sees Harry holding his child, and feels affection. Longing. Like he wants to jump off the bed himself, into Harry’s waiting arms, hoping he’ll catch him before he hits the ground. And though Zayn hates to admit it, his mind does flash to Rachel then, to her telling him to be careful.

“Did you like your present?” Harry bounces her, walking over towards Zayn on the bed.

“I love it! I want to sing so many songs!” she cries out.

Zayn clears his throat at her, and blinks.

“Oh,” she catches on, blushing. She twists Harry’s long hair around in her hands. “Thank you Harry, for my present.”

Harry smiles, his nose crinkling slightly, and sits next to Zayn so they both can kiss her cheeks.

“Anything for you, toots,” Harry nods.

Ev stays there on Harry’s lap, but puts her feet over onto Zayn’s lap. They hold her close, side by side, as she talks about everything and nothing at all. Harry gives her the mostly-true play-by-play of his trip to California. He leaves out the Mexico portion entirely, winking at Zayn, and tells Ev he’ll take her to a California beach some day. She stares at him, completely transfixed, as he describes the way the sand feels between your toes. “Different coast, different beach, see.”

Zayn squeezes Ev’s feet in his hands and smiles at Harry.

“Daddy, you’ll come too, right?” Ev asks him, pulling him out of his singular _holy shit, I really fucking like you_ thought he has, whenever he looks at Harry these days.

“Am I invited?” Zayn shrugs, asking Harry.

“You’re always invited,” Harry smiles.

“Alright, then I’ll go, too.”

Ev claps her hands and reaches for Harry. She hugs him close and actually tucks her face into his neck, sighing with her eyes closed like she’s happy to have him there. Harry startles a bit, caught off guard by the suddenness of it.

“I love you, Harry,” Ev says quietly, probably ready for a midday nap.

“I love you, too,” Harry whispers as he hugs her closer and kisses her forehead.

Ev dozes for a few seconds between them, holding onto Harry for dear life. And maybe that’s why Zayn chances it, the fact that Ev won’t see. He leans in and gives Harry a soft, sweet kiss on the mouth. It’s just a quick one, to say he’s glad Harry is there, with them.

Harry licks at his bottom lip and stares Zayn down, like he’s glad, too.

 

***

 

These days, Zayn looks around at his messy, lived-in apartment, and sees Ev everywhere. Ev, now so settled and accepting of her new circumstances, makes the place feel like a real home. Her drawings cover the fridge, her shoes clutter up the little mat next to the door, her fingerprints smudge the glass of the front window. She’s taken to standing at it, to either watch the snow fall some nights, or wait for Harry to come back.

For the first two days of Ev’s week-long stay, they played it like Harry had to go home after dinner, because he had work the next day. They made a big deal out of it: Harry putting on his boots, kissing Ev goodbye, waving to her before he stepped into his living room.

But that just wouldn’t do. By the third day, Harry couldn’t leave. He gave Zayn a look over Ev’s head as they crowded on the couch together to watch “Toy Story” and that was that.

Harry was the one to carry Ev to bed that night, to tuck her in while Zayn watched from the doorway. And then they brushed their teeth side by side at Zayn’s little sink, their toes curling in the pink rug, before wordlessly falling into Zayn’s bed.

“I knew I’d hate this thing,” Harry said into Zayn’s neck, as he tried to get comfortable on the “too firm” mattress.

The next morning, Ev crawled up in between them and settled herself as noisily as humanly possible. Zayn couldn’t even fathom the fact that he was awake, let alone worry over Ev seeing them in bed together, before she was already kicking back. She put her hands under her head and hummed a bit, waiting for Zayn to blink awake.

“Evelyn…” he started, not knowing where to begin or how to explain it. He was thankful they at least boxers and sweats on, his face red.

On the other side of her little body, Harry was on his stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows, his face a stricken mess. He looked over her at Zayn with wide eyes. Zayn shrugged, at a loss.

Ev took care of it for them. She wiggled between them and nearly elbowed them both in the face.

“I like sleepovers,” Ev said, easy as anything. “Let’s have one in _my_ room next.”

And just like that, Harry burst out laughing. Ev loves being funny so she laughed along with him, not fully understanding why.

Harry held his fist up to her, yawning and relaxing once more, for her to fist bump.

“Deal,” he said, before shoving his head back under one of Zayn’s pillows. He removed himself from the situation entirely, the bastard. So Evelyn turned on her side and stuck her nose up against Zayn’s so she could get her way as quickly as possible.

“I want pancakes, please,” she said to Zayn, practically right into his mouth. Zayn tickled her right out of the bed and into the kitchen.

The remaining days of Ev’s stay, that’s how it goes. The three of them play and sing songs. When Zayn has to write, Harry takes Ev to build a fort in the snow, or to her room so they can read stories. He buys a few puzzles meant for little kids, and shows her how to put them together on the living room floor so Zayn can watch from his desk. And when Harry has to go to the studio, Zayn keeps Ev close. She paints his nails, paints about thirty pictures at the kitchen table, pretends to be a doctor and gives him a shot.

Harry takes them to a movie on the last afternoon, one with 3-D glasses. Ev sits between them, so they each can help her with her soda and candy. But she ends up eating so much popcorn, she nearly gets sick. Harry carries her to the car and laments along with her, swearing that he ate too many Skittles and that “daddy will just have to take care of us if we get sick.”

So Zayn lets them moan and complain from the couch for the rest of the night, playing a game where they call out different things for Zayn to go “fetch” for them since they’re too ill to move. Ev’s favorite DVD, Harry’s sweatshirt because he’s cold, a pillow, and then another pillow to prop their feet up on the coffee table.

“Daddy, my socks!” Ev yells, her hand on her forehead like she’s some dame in an old movie, like Harry taught her.

Zayn blows the hair up off of his forehead, and he’s off again. When he returns to the couch with her fuzzy socks, Harry grips his wrist.

“Zayn, my hat!” he moans, too “sick” to get himself.

Zayn pretends to be angry, stomping out of the room to go get their various belongings, along with tea and warm milk, over and over again. Ev absolutely loses her shit and laughs so hard, she snorts a few times. Zayn hears them giggling and planning from the couch, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. They’re quite the pair.

And the next morning, when Zayn wakes up before the both of them, he looks around and doesn’t just see Ev. He sees Harry, too. His boots, a book or two, his shitty ukulele sitting next to Ev’s pink one on the armchair by the window.

It feels like their place together, a home they’ve deigned good enough for Ev to grow up in. Zayn sits at the table and drinks coffee, waiting for Ev to come bounding in for her breakfast, before Rach picks her up. He wonders what Rach will see this time, when she steps inside. Maybe she’ll see the traces of Harry, too.

But Zayn finds that whatever she sees, whatever conclusions she reaches about Zayn and Harry together, he’s not all too scared for it. He learned a long time ago not to be intimidated by Rachel or her discerning eye. The only hurdle is making sure Harry’s prepared for it.

Zayn blows on his coffee and waits to hear Ev’s feet on the carpet. Maybe she’ll run to Harry first and they’ll come in for breakfast together, hand in hand. Because Harry stays over every night now. They still haven’t talked about what they are, or where they’re going, but Harry’s here. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s not running.

They miss each other, when not in the same room. Zayn can tell, he can see it written all over Harry’s face whenever he gets home after a day at work. He reaches for Ev and it’s like relief washes over him, as he relaxes and loosens, holding her close to ask about her day. When she runs off to go wash her hands before dinner, he always kisses Zayn and asks about his day, too.

Zayn waits for the telltale sounds of Ev and Harry, and wonders what they’ll have for breakfast.

 

***

 

The rain forest puzzle takes the better part of the next day.

It’s a form of withdrawal maybe, for Harry, to now see what it’s like from the inside, to have Ev close and then have to let her go. That’s what Zayn tells himself, when he remembers he won’t see Ev for a few days, until he gets to pick her up from school again, that the puzzle is more for Harry’s sake this time around.

They drink beer and eat homemade nachos with spicy beef that makes Harry’s eyes water. Netflix. A movie or two. And then back to the puzzle, whenever they find themselves sitting too long in silence.

At one point Zayn thinks they’ve lost two very important corner pieces, until Harry gently tells him that he had them close to his chest all along. When Rachel picked Ev up, Harry made sure to wear jeans and a sweatshirt, so as to not look like he was lounging around Zayn’s apartment for days on end in his lived-in pajama pants. He even put his boots on. Rachel didn’t say much to either of them, too excited to be taking Evie home with her.

But Zayn knew: she had a full conversation locked and loaded not just for him, but for Harry as well.

Once they finish the puzzle featuring a large, colorful parrot staring back at them, perched on a branch surrounded by foliage, Harry leans into Zayn and drunkenly kisses at his jaw.

“S’finished,” he slurs a bit.

“Yeah.”

Zayn’s eyes start to droop there at the kitchen table, exhausted. It’s like once the puzzle is done, they have a reason to go to sleep. To really rest.

“Are you sad?” Harry asks, pushing himself up off his own chair so he can fully sit on Zayn’s lap. He wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck and kisses him.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, before kissing back. “Sucks when she has to leave.”

Harry looks at him, his eyes loaded.

“Being a dad sort of sucks,” Harry says with a resigned smile.

Zayn snorts.

“It definitely does.”

They both know it’s a boldfaced lie, that Zayn fucking loves his child too much to ever say the experience as a whole sucks. But maybe they’re remembering Harry’s aversion to the whole parenting thing, and how now he too broods alongside Zayn when Ev is gone.

Harry’s cheeks pink slightly, as he moves off of Zayn to pull him up by the hand.

“It’s okay. Let’s go to bed, babe,” Harry sighs.

And so they do. They curl up in Zayn’s bed. Zayn tries to pretend like he’s not sad and bummed out at having to be without Ev, because he can tell Harry’s already shifted his mind from it. He’s not her dad, so it’s only natural. It’s not the same, for Harry to be without Ev. He doesn’t fully get it.

They drift in and out of sleep, kissing here and there, grazing fingers over sensitive skin. Harry says it’s best to just sleep naked, “cut the middle man out so we don’t have to get naked in the morning.” They settle back into their normal routine, of spending nights just the two of them.

Harry only complains about the firm mattress twice.

 

***

 

Harry more or less moves into Zayn’s apartment, with his own key and everything.

He technically goes home to change clothes every day, and he still showers there because, according to him, his water pressure is better. But he comes to Zayn’s immediately after he’s done at the studio, or as he paces around on his cell phone, discussing whatever the hell it is he does for work. He cooks all of their meals in Zayn’s kitchen, he has a toothbrush in the bathroom, and he often accompanies Zayn to pick up Ev from school, if he’s around. Sometimes he’ll disappear for a few hours, which Zayn hates to have noticed. He doesn’t want another person to worry or fret over.

They more or less fuck around all over Zayn’s apartment.

Harry fucking craves the attention some days, waking Zayn up by sucking marks into his chest and hipbones. He’ll slide a hand down Zayn’s stomach, to rouse him out of a dreamless sleep, and grip his cock before Zayn can even register what day it is. Zayn could stare at Harry all day, when he sucks him off. He likes to grip Zayn by the hips as he makes coffee in the morning, or while he brushes his teeth. He’ll shove his dick up against Zayn’s bony ass, at the most inopportune times, like when Zayn’s on the phone with his mother, or Ev’s school, or as Zayn leans over his own goddamn birthday cake to blow out the candles because it’s his “present.”

He’ll suck Zayn off at the kitchen sink in the middle of dishes, or when Zayn gets stressed out over a piece while he sits at his desk, or even when they’re just sitting on the couch without a care in the world.

Zayn sucks Harry off too, which is new.

He returns the favor, whenever Harry goes down on him. He used to be the type of man who turns to complete jelly after a good orgasm. But maybe he was just never with the right person, someone he needed to see come after he does. It’s like the second Harry comes up for air, or wipes the jizz from the corner of his mouth, Zayn has to taste him. And then fast as anything, he’s shoving Harry back so he can sink to his knees.

Harry’s fucking filthy with it, holds Zayn’s face between his palms, thrusts up into his mouth. Zayn may or may not have a slight form a lockjaw now, but he’s not complaining.

They eat, sleep, and breathe each other, on days when they don’t have Ev. And on the days she is at the apartment, after school, or for Zayn’s weekends, they try to school their faces a bit. They don’t get affectionate when she’s there, instead focusing all of their attention on her.

But of course, it can’t stay contained forever. She catches them on the last Sunday morning of the month.

Zayn shoves two slices of bread into the toaster and leans against the counter. He rubs at his eyes a bit, still tired from it being so early. They let Ev stay up a bit later the night before, when they had a slumber party in the living room: blankets on the floor, popcorn, and Pixar movies. But after they put her to bed, Harry laid Zayn out on the blanket and sucked his dick. He even slid a finger inside Zayn, which had him seeing stars. He asked an old girlfriend to do it once, figuring he’d like the sensation, but it definitely wasn’t the same until it was Harry.

Harry sidles up next to him wearing one of Zayn’s old hoodies, and hooks his chin on Zayn’s shoulder.

“You look tired,” Harry says with a slight smirk.

“I am. And you would know.”

“You looked so good last night,” Harry whispers in his ear. Zayn can feel Harry’s teeth against his earlobe and he shivers. “Loved that.”

Zayn smiles, stepping even closer to feel Harry’s warmth.

“Maybe I’ll return the favor.”

“I should hope so,” Harry says with a laugh.

He tilts Zayn’s chin, so they can lazily kiss while the bread toasts. It’s really no use to even attempt toast, since Harry will probably want to show him up, by making something creative and delicious, like dinosaur-shaped pancakes or something. Ev will then fall all over him, say how great Harry is, and if Zayn didn’t like him so much, he’d tell him to piss off.

But as it is, Zayn kisses back. He slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth for a second, before his ears perk at the sound of shuffling feet.

He jerks back and looks to his right, to see Ev in the kitchen doorway. Her hair is a tangled mess and she has water droplets all down her nightgown. She still struggles with brushing her teeth and not getting water or toothpaste all over herself. Harry must’ve left her to do it on her own, which Zayn can’t help but frown at.

“Daddy, you and Harry were kissing,” she says, like it’s a completely normal statement.

Harry makes a face, a cross between a grimace and a shrug, and stares at Zayn.

“Uh, yeah baby,” Zayn admits. He gestures for her to walk to him, so she does. He picks her up and holds her close, can smell the shampoo from her bath the night before, the Barbie toothpaste on her breath, the drool on her chin. He doesn’t say anything else, hoping Ev will supply the questions to jump start the inevitable awkward conversation.

Ev looks at Zayn and then at Harry.

“Is Harry your prince?” Ev asks her dad, rubbing her eye.

Zayn glances to Harry, who has moved away to stand near the fridge, his hands awkwardly behind his back.

“Do you have a prince?” Zayn asks her, instead of answering the question. He’s learned from Rachel how to divert Ev’s attention, and sometimes it works.

“No,” she says, tugging at the hair on Zayn’s chin. “But I might get one.”

“Oh really, who?”

“Lucas is nice,” Ev says with a smile.

“And who is Lucas?” Harry finally intones, coming close so he can give Evelyn a very serious look.

“A boy at school.”

“Don’t you go kissing him. No kissing. Not yet,” Harry says, putting his hands on his hips.

Ev rolls her eyes and squirms for Zayn to put her down. She dances around while the toast continues to heat up, and babbles about various boys at her school, and how she does not want to kiss them, thank you very much. She admits princes are nice, and that Zayn is probably Harry’s Aladdin.

Harry finds it amusing, so he grabs her hands so they can waltz together in their socks. He asks Ev all sorts of questions about Disney movies and how the characters kiss all the time, so it can’t be that gross. But Zayn doesn’t really listen. He’s too enveloped in his own thoughts, at what it means for Ev to see him with someone other than her mother. He’s not sure she would even remember Zayn and Rach ever being affectionate or sweet together. They were only ever just partners, especially towards the end, at keeping her fed and happy.

He can only imagine what Rachel will say, now that Ev knows. Zayn can’t ask Ev to lie, or to not divulge what she’s seen to her mom. Maybe it’s time she knows. Maybe it’s time Rachel comes to terms with it, whatever Zayn has with Harry, instead of dancing around the obvious whenever she comes to the apartment to pick Ev up.

Harry squeezes his hand as Ev climbs up to sit at the table, asking for Mickey Mouse pancakes, since the toast burned. Zayn didn’t even notice the smell. Harry stares at him for a beat, but Zayn can’t quite read the look, so he does that thing with his eyes that he does with Rach. He tries to send a message, to tell Harry that it’s about to get weird, or different. But Harry doesn’t get the message. It doesn’t land. He just smiles like nothing’s wrong.

True to form, Rachel calls the next day while Zayn tries to work on a quick piece, and Harry’s off wherever he is.

“Sleepovers. And now kissing in the kitchen,” Rach says simply.

“I didn’t… It just sort of happened. I guess,” Zayn admits, his head in his hand.

“If you think I’m surprised, I’m not.”

Zayn snaps his head up.

“That I’m… with someone so soon, or with a guy?”

“Both.”

“What?”

“You certainly never wanted me. So now I guess I can only take it half-way personally,” Rachel says quietly, but in a lighter tone than Zayn is used to.

“I didn’t – like, it wasn’t going to be a thing, I swear. He’s just… he’s really great.”

“He seems nice. And Ev loves him. But I just… I worry…”

Zayn nods and cracks the knuckles, Ev’s initials stretching with his skin.

“He’s great, Rach.”

She doesn’t say anything right away.

“I want to talk to him,” Rachel says, knocking the wind out of Zayn entirely.

“What, why?”

“Because I was serious when I told you to be careful with anyone being around Evie. If Harry’s going to be around, if you’re together for the long haul, I want to speak my peace. It’s only fair.”

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose and considers it. The thought of having to witness the conversation between his ex-wife and whatever the hell Harry is to him these days, is honestly his worst nightmare. And why does Rachel get to know the ins and outs of his relationship status before he himself does?

He should probably talk to Harry about that sooner rather than later, and not keep putting it off.

The long haul.

_Holy shit, I’m in a serious fucking relationship. Again. At this very moment. It doesn’t suck and it’s not scary or shitty. Holy shit._

“Relax, Zayn,” Rachel says, reading his silence not entirely accurately. She knows when he’s freaking out, because she knows him so fucking well.

“Sorry,” Zayn shakes his head to snap out of it.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just whenever. I won’t be a bitch. I just want to talk.”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Rachel asks, her nails typing away on her computer at the firm. She called him while she was at work, so really, he should’ve known the conversation wouldn’t end in his favor.

An hour later, Harry gets home. Zayn has the vague thought that he wondered where Harry could’ve gone earlier, and instead of hanging with his musician friends or fucking around with a few of the girls Zayn knows Harry still hangs out with sometimes, he was instead at the grocery store. Stocking up on essentials and dinner items.

He greets Zayn with a kiss and carries two bags of groceries into the kitchen. He tells Zayn all about the new band they signed, and how they’re going on tour soon because Harry pushed for it. They want him to go with them, but he can’t “obviously,” Harry says, gesturing to Zayn and his little apartment.

Because he has a whole life here, in this apartment. A life he can’t just drop for some band.

Zayn feels like he’s been smacked across the face.

Before he knows it, he’s out of his desk chair and pushing Harry against the kitchen counter. He kisses him within an inch of his life, like he’s desperate for it. Harry meets him halfway, and drops the can of black beans to the floor, to hold Zayn by the hem of his sweater.

 

***

 

** February **

 

Harry said he wanted to spend his birthday with all of his favorite people. So that’s how Zayn finds himself in a ridiculous indie venue in the heart of D.C. with cigarettes behind both ears and a whiskey soda in both hands.

Three of the bands Harry has worked with in the past all come into town from New York, as well as the new group of guys he’s taken under his wing. His two friends from Pittsburgh drive in. A guy Zayn suspects used to fuck Harry at one time or another actually flew in from Los Angeles, which seems a bit over the top. A girl, also someone who seems a bit too comfortable with Harry’s hand on her lower back to just be a friendly acquaintance, seems to have actual, literal stars in her eyes any time Harry talks to her. It’s a rather large group of people, all there for Harry under the lights and bobbing around as the synth builds.

Harry, in his tight jeans and billowing white shirt, makes sure to wear a pink birthday crown for most of the night. He gets fucking hammered, dancing from one side of the room to the other, to make sure he plays with everyone who has come for him.

Zayn hangs back, smokes too many cigarettes. Harry, Mr. Nicorette, must not notice. Zayn also makes sure to widen his stance a bit so he doesn’t seem small. A few people chat with him, some girl with tequila on her lips asks if she can lick salt off his neck for her next shot. Zayn just smiles at her and wishes her well, before finding Harry again.

Even in the midst of his party, Harry never loses sight of Zayn. When he crosses the room, he always makes a pit stop wherever Zayn is. He’ll kiss Zayn’s mouth roughly, like he’s laying claim, or hug him and talk about absolute nonsense in his ear. Zayn whispers to Harry about the girl and her request for a body shot, so Harry leans in and bites Zayn’s neck until it hurts.

They don’t fuck around there at the bar, or even on the ride home. But once they stumble into Zayn’s pitch-black apartment and into his bed, Zayn makes Harry come so hard, Zayn’s pretty sure his neighbor upstairs could hear it.

“Happy birthday, babe,” Zayn mumbles to Harry afterwards, as they fall asleep.

“Hmmm,” Harry answers, sort of.

Zayn hugs him close and kisses his shoulder.

 

***

 

A week later, Zayn is woken up on a Saturday morning when he senses eyes on him. He cracks one of his own open and turns over onto his back, to see Harry sitting up in bed with Ev on his lap. They’re both staring at him.

“What’s going on?” he mumbles, confused. He quickly rubs at his face, to wake himself up, and moves to sit up straight.

“Evelyn has news,” Harry nods seriously, “for both of us.”

Zayn frowns. He looks at Ev, who blinks at him a few times. Her face blank. Her hair limp on her shoulders, curled against Harry like she’s trying to protect herself from external forces. Harry bites his lip and nuzzles his cheek against hers, and Zayn can’t handle it.

“What’s wrong, baby, come here,” he holds his arms out, for her to crawl into. If she’s sick or hurt, she should’ve woken him up first thing. If she’s sad or scared of something, if she has questions about the big scary world, he shouldn’t have to be woken up for it. He should’ve already known. Was she acting weird the night before? Did he let her watch a scary movie on accident? Did they freak her out somehow? Rachel will kill him. Fucking hell.

But then Ev smiles at him, her face splitting in two, as she absolutely loses it. Harry giggles with her and kisses her cheek, the two of them just playing another stupid game.

“That’s not nice,” Zayn scowls, smacking Harry’s arm. “Don’t pretend like you’re sad. I don’t like that, Evelyn.”

“Sorry daddy, we were just joking,” Ev rolls her eyes at him dramatically.

“Sorry daddy,” Harry mimics her, winking at Zayn.

Zayn settles back into bed, his head hitting the pillow in the hopes that he’ll have another five minutes to sleep. He almost gets away with it too, with the shuffling of bodies next to him, leading him to believe that the two monkeys in his bed will go play elsewhere before breakfast.

But no dice. He feels Ev’s ten toes poking at his side, his stomach, up to his chest.

“Yes, Evelyn. I am awake,” he says, eyes still closed.

“She really does have something to tell you,” Harry intones, annoyed.

“Oh she does, does she?”

“Daddyyy,” Evelyn whines, crawling away from Harry so she can instead sit on Zayn’s chest.

“Whatyyy,” Zayn whines back at her, grabbing her sides to tickle her. He pulls her down so he can give her raspberries all over her cheeks and chin. She shrieks and tries to squirm away.

She ends up on her back, lying next to Zayn. So Harry lies on her other side, three peas in a pod, looking up at the ceiling as the morning light filters in.

“Go on,” Harry says, poking Ev’s belly. “Tell him. Or no, _ask_ him. Say please.”

Zayn blinks a few times, still trying to adjust his eyes, and waits.

“Daddy, we have a trip soon!” Ev says excitedly.

“A field trip, for school,” Harry whispers so Zayn can understand.

“Ah, a field trip,” Zayn nods. Of course Harry knew about Ev’s school activities before he did. He should probably check her backpack each night, for stray forms and important notices. That’d be the responsible thing to do.

“Miss Sisson says we can ask our mommies and daddies and aunties and babysitters to come with us.”

“They need chaperones,” Harry whispers again.

“I want you and Harry to come!” Ev practically yells, much too excited for the early hour. She looks over at Harry, and then remembers to add, “Oh, and… please.”

Zayn scratches at his eyebrow.

“It’s to a museum. We get to learn so many new things. Miss Sisson gave me a paper to have you sign. And then you and Harry can come with us.”

“The form says,” Harry offers, propping himself up on his elbow to look over at Zayn, “that the field trip is the Friday before Valentine’s Day, when Rach is out of town. And I just so happen to be free.”

“But…” Zayn tries to tell Harry with his eyes, _what about Rachel, we’ll have to tell her, she might not want you to go, how do we let Ev down easy if you can’t, you need to talk to me first before you get her hopes up._

Harry winks at him, not getting the message. Zayn shakes his head, to rid the worries away.

“Hey toots, you know what we should do?” Harry says down to her, pinching her nose and honking it. “Call your mom. You wanna say hi to her?”

“Yes!” Evelyn shouts, scrambling up and off the bed in a hurry. They hear her tearing through the apartment at top speed, ready for the day, excited to talk to her mom and tell her about the new song Harry taught her the night before. Harry shifts closer, still propped on his elbow, shirtless and hot as sin.

“I got this,” Harry says to Zayn, leaning down to kiss him. “You said Rachel wanted to talk to me anyways, right? Now’s my chance.”

Zayn doesn’t let him pull away, though. He grabs for Harry’s face and kisses him again, twice in a row, before looking him in the eye.

“You really want to go?”

“Free trip to the science museum?” Harry gapes at him. “Of course I want to go!”

“Harry.”

“I would love to go, babe,” Harry rolls his eyes. “If it means spending time with you and Ev, I’m all for it. And it’ll make her happy, so. Why not?”

Zayn bites his lip as Harry gets out of bed to put on a shirt. He can then hear Harry and Ev out in the kitchen, starting breakfast and babbling about the fun things they’ll see at the museum. Harry said he’d pull up the website later on his iPad, for Ev to see ahead of time what they’ll be doing.

But they still haven’t dialed Rachel to see if it’s okay. Zayn anxiously picks at a piece of skin on his thumbnail. It’s well within Rachel’s rights to refuse Harry as a chaperone. She barely knows this guy. He’s just some dude who happens to be fucking around with her kid’s dad. He has no real ties to Ev, or to their family. And Zayn knows, he can’t keep ignoring the fact that they still haven’t fucking talked.

It’s just one step closer to a real relationship. Chaperoning a fucking field trip is the kind of thing a fucking step-dad would do. Ev has become so attached to Harry, her first thought when her teacher starts talking about special people to go on a trip is, in order, _mommy and daddy and Harry._

And if Harry does convince Rachel to let him go, that’s huge. It means Harry doesn’t only have a hold over Zayn and Ev, but also Rach. And if he can get Rach to accept him, even a little bit, they’re all fucked. Zayn might as well plan his second wedding right then and there.

Suddenly a crash from the kitchen snaps Zayn out of it. A bowl or a plate, probably slipped from Ev’s little fingers, in a heap on the floor. He hears a giggle and then Harry yell out _I got it, don’t even worry._ Music starts to play, something fun and jaunty, and by the sounds of their feet, they start dancing to it.

Zayn shoves his head under the pillow to give himself five more minutes.

 

***

 

They’re grocery shopping later that day, when Rachel calls them back. She had been in the shower after breakfast, when Zayn handed Ev the phone to ask her permission. So now, as Zayn pushes a cart through Safeway, he finds it difficult to keep an eye on Ev, and an eye on Harry.

It’s just that once Ev asked her in the produce section, without quite articulating the question correctly, Zayn took over and started to explain the situation. Rachel cut him off and asked to speak with Harry. Zayn wanted to punch himself in the face now, as Harry paces with the phone to his ear, his fingers skimming over random grocery items.

Ev keeps trying to ask Zayn if she can help, so he grabs things from the shelves and gives them to her to toss into their cart. Harry, four steps ahead of them at all times, keeps his head tucked down and talks to Rachel as quietly as he can.

Zayn finds it very hard to read Harry’s body language whenever he’s on the phone. He always takes calls and leaves the room, or stands up so he can pace in a circle. Zayn tries not to pry into his work life, or even into the shit with his friends, because Harry sort of keeps everything separate.

But if the call is with his fucking ex-wife, he should able to listen to this side of the conversation.

“Cookies?” Evelyn asks, tugging at the pocket of Zayn’s jeans.

He tears his eyes away from Harry, stock still at the end of the aisle with his back to them, and looks down at Ev. She holds up two different cookie brands and bats her eyelashes.

“One,” Zayn warns her, before looking back up towards Harry.

Ev sighs dramatically, puts one of them back onto the completely wrong shelf, and throws the other one into the cart.

Just then, Harry turns towards them and walks over. He doesn’t look at Zayn, and instead crouches down to Ev’s level to hand her the phone. He whispers something to her, and she giggles, before skipping ahead a bit to talk to her mom.

“So?” Zayn grabs for Harry’s wrist as he stands up, impatient for the answer.

Harry turns to him and gets close, so close Zayn can see the faint lines around his eyes.

“She said I can chaperone,” Harry says with a small unsure smile.

“She did?”

“Well first she got mad at us, for letting Ev ask her permission. Said we need to grow up and ask her ourselves next time. But then… yeah, she said I could go,” Harry nods, like he’s talking himself into something. “So long as I tell the school that I’m your serious live-in boyfriend, and give them all of my contact information. For emergency purposes.”

Zayn inhales a bit, but can’t seem to exhale the breath. He just stands there and gapes at Harry, hoping with all of his might that Evelyn hasn’t run off. He can’t seem to look away just yet, so hopefully she’s close.

Rachel has always shoved Zayn towards the things he needs to face, the things he can never seem to face on his own.

“So,” Harry moves the cart away, so he can pull Zayn fully against his body. They stand there, hands on hips, an inch apart. “When you pick Ev up from school on Monday, we’ll go to the office first. I’ll fill out the guardian paperwork, and then we’ll give her teacher the form that says we’ll both be chaperones.”

“So, you…” Zayn tries to speak, unsure.

“Shut up,” Harry says with a smile, before leaning in to kiss him.

They kiss in the cookie aisle, with Ev’s voice nearby still on the phone, her coat buttoned the way its supposed to be buttoned, and potentially thirty little old ladies around to scoff at them. But Zayn doesn’t even notice. He just holds Harry closer and kisses him back.

 

***

 

Evelyn Malik can now be picked up by three people from school, per the official school records. Rachel Malik, Zayn Malik, and Harry Styles. All three of them have their numbers and addresses on file. It’s official.

It’s… a thing.

When Rachel goes out of town that weekend, she drops Ev off with her backpack. Harry makes sure to answer the door so they can have another chat. Zayn ignores the serious look Rachel gives him, and grabs for Ev to walk her to her room. He convinces himself it’s to give Harry and Rachel some privacy.

Harry joins them on Ev’s bed a few minutes later, his face slightly pinched, to discuss the field trip in the morning. Evelyn grabs for both of their hands, too excited beyond words, to have them with her during the school day.

When they arrive by bus at the Maryland Science Center on the thirteenth, Harry takes all of Miss Sisson’s instructions to heart. He makes sure their little group all have their nametags and buddies to hold hands with. He makes a sly joke to Zayn that he can’t wait to hold his hand, so Zayn doesn’t get lost, which causes Zayn to roll his eyes. He’s only gotten lost in a museum _once_ , and it was years ago. A few of the other chaperones, mostly mothers and babysitters, can’t stop staring at Zayn and Harry, which Harry absolutely revels in. They can openly see some of the women whispering about them, their eyes wide and playful, at the two Malik dads in their black jeans and worn jackets.

“We’re just too good looking,” Harry says into Zayn’s ear, once they’re inside the dinosaur exploration room.

Zayn shoves him away, his cheeks red.

Ev keeps close most of the day, which Zayn sort of loves. She’s independent and outgoing, always talking about her friends and the kids in her “color group.” But today she loves having Zayn and Harry with her, holding their hands so they can swing her between them. She wants to spend time with them, and Zayn finds himself affectionately tugging on her ponytail throughout the day, to say he loves her without having to verbalize it.

At one point, they enter a room with a large blue crab over the doorway. Ev squeals and tugs Harry along, to have him show her the life cycle of a blue crab in the Chesapeake Bay. He gets down on the floor with her, to look in a little tank full of crabs walking on sand. Zayn hangs back quietly, as is his way, and watches with a smile on his face.

By lunchtime, most of the kids are exhausted. Zayn ends up carrying Ev back to the bus in one arm. He notices her dress riding up a bit over her tights, but before he can fix it, Harry pulls it down for her. So Zayn grabs for Harry’s hand and they head towards the bus together.

He hears no less than three mothers cooing behind them.

 

***

 

They should be working. That’s all Zayn can comprehend after they get home after the field trip. Ev still has to finish up the school day, so they have a few hours before Zayn has to pick her up for the weekend. And really, he should be writing and Harry should be off in the studio with his new band. Zayn needs to make money. He’s been slacking the last week, he even ignored a call from The Sun, like an asshole. He can’t afford to not pick up his phone. He should definitely be at his desk, paying a bill or writing a piece or researching cold medicine since he heard Ev sniffling on the bus.

But instead, they’re about to have sex for the first time.

Zayn can feel it, in his bones, that they’re about to fuck. He knows it in the way Harry strips off his sweater, and then goes for Zayn’s leather jacket. He can feel it in the tremble of Harry’s fingers as he pops the button on his jeans, and in the way he breathes heavily into Zayn’s ear like he’s fucking dying for it.

“You want to?” Harry whispers, biting at Zayn’s ear.

Zayn nods.

_I’m gay._

“First time, hmm.”

Zayn nods.

“How?” Harry asks, shifting his hips so he can grind into Zayn’s thigh.

_If I’m gonna be gay, I’m gonna be really fucking gay._

“Want you to fuck me,” Zayn whispers, pressing right back against Harry.

“Fuck babe,” Harry groans quietly.

Harry doesn’t waste any time. They both situate themselves on the bed, with its new, fresh sheets and slot their legs together. Harry grabs for the lube between the mattresses as Zayn strips off his briefs and tosses them somewhere. Harry also reaches for his jeans, to grab a condom from his wallet. Zayn almost laughs at that, at needing a condom again. He hasn’t needed a condom in years. And now that he’s about to fuck a guy, or be fucked by a guy, there’s really no need.

He even opens his mouth, to tell Harry not to worry himself over any form of protection. But Harry doesn’t look up at his face in time, and instead opens it with his teeth, and oh yeah, they still need a condom. Because Harry definitely used to fuck various people regularly before this thing started up, and may have fucked any number of girls on weekends when Zayn didn’t see him. When they were still just friends.

Zayn shuts his mouth.

Harry crawls up over his body, naked now, and looks down at him. His eyes are black, wild and unblinking. He leans in to kiss Zayn, to get their mouths messy and slick. Zayn scratches at his back, ready to do something he’s never done before. It’s exciting, to know he’s about to experience something new. Once you have sex with a girl, in all shapes and forms, a straight guy sort of thinks _guess that’s all there is._

But this is new. This is Harry on top of him, holding him down, sliding a hand between his legs. It’s a hitch to his breath when Harry circles his rim with slick fingers, his eyes asking permission. Zayn nods, tries to relax a bit, and bears down on the pressure.

He’s messed around with enough girls anally to know that this takes time and patience, so he closes his eyes to focus. Harry works up to two fingers and murmurs in his ear, about how tight he is and how hot he looks. Zayn, never one to take compliments in general, let alone in bed, feels his face heating up. Embarrassed. Overwhelmed.

And then he’s riding Harry’s fingers in earnest. He does that thing he’s seen girls do: grips Harry’s shoulders, presses down, and lets it happen. It’s a new sensation, much more than one single finger to fill him up. It’s Harry, trusting Harry, feeling Harry.

“Think you’re good,” Harry supplies for him minutes later, kissing Zayn’s chin and neck over and over.

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers, still too overwhelmed. He almost forgot about his dick entirely, too engulfed in the other, more intense feeling washing over him from his ass. He opens his eyes and looks down between them, to see how fucking hard he is. How fucking _ready_ he is.

Harry leans back to slide the condom on and slick himself up. Zayn watches through hooded eyes, the beautiful specimen between his legs who only wants him now. Harry could fuck anything that moves, and he has, but he still chooses to sleep on Zayn’s hard mattress and touch Zayn’s hard dick.

He lines himself up and slowly presses in. Zayn hisses and almost recoils from it. But then Harry’s draped over him again, the weight of him actually helping. Zayn feels pinned to the earth by Harry, like he’d fucking pop like a bubble if Harry weren’t there to hold him together.

They breathe slowly, the further Harry takes them. Zayn’s eyes cross once he’s completely full and Harry’s hips press into his thighs. He feels Harry’s fingers in his hair and lips against his cheek, but he hardly registers either sensation. It’s like every nerve ending and synapse his body possesses, all collectively decide to focus on one sensation: the singular place where their bodies meet.

“Shit,” Zayn can’t help but grunt, when Harry rocks into him a bit.

“You good?”

“You’re fucking… huge…” Zayn says, sort of, if his brain is working correctly and sending the right syllables to his mouth. It sounds stupid and cliché, but that’s all there is in the moment. It’s all he can process.

“Not so bad yourself, in case I haven’t said so lately,” Harry smirks, kissing Zayn on the mouth.

Of course Harry would take the time now to make a joke. Zayn actually rolls his eyes. But that’s also when Harry shifts his hips, like he’s fucking up into Zayn with a purpose, and the moment is gone. Zayn just grunts again, says Harry’s name and then a string of _holy shits_ and then he’s coming all over himself.

Harry realizes about halfway through that Zayn has already hit his peak, so he rushes to grip Zayn’s cock in his hand. He fucks him through it, slowly and gently, because it’s Zayn’s first time. And even Zayn knows this first time can’t be anything other than an introductory course to ass fucking.

Zayn winces as Harry pulls out to remove the condom. His entire lower half burns something awful. He even reaches a hand down, to run his fingers over himself, to assess the damage. Raw, angry skin. Wet with lube. Hot to the touch and jumping slightly, every time he runs a finger over the rim.

When he opens his eyes, Harry’s kneeling over him, his eyes still black and crazed. He watches Zayn touch himself, feel the place where he just was inside him, as he jerks himself off.

Zayn Malik, ever the tease, widens his legs a bit. He puts his feet up onto Harry’s thick thighs and spreads them as best he can. Harry’s eyes bounce from his face down to his ass, like he can’t decide which one to focus on.

“You wanna come on me?” Zayn says with a smile, biting his lip. He remembers all those weeks ago when Harry asked if he could, the very first time they messed around. It must be Harry’s thing.

And now that they’re a thing, Zayn wants Harry to have whatever he wants.

Harry nods and works his hand faster, watching Zayn touch himself. The aftermath. The stretch of his ass. He comes with a groan, as strings of white fall on Zayn’s pelvis, his hip, a few drops on his rim where his fingers lay.

He collapses next to Zayn on the bed, completely exhausted. It’s only two in the afternoon, and Zayn’s pretty sure he could fall asleep right then and there for the next twenty-four hours.

They probably look disgusting as they relax together, covered in lube, come, and sweat. Zayn just washed these sheets too, damn it.

“We need to clean up,” Harry says with a yawn.

“We do.”

“And I’ll change the sheets since you washed and changed them yesterday,” Harry says evenly, patting at Zayn’s stomach before getting up to head towards the bathroom.

Zayn loves when Harry notices shit like that, shit he didn’t realize he always missed in his past relationship. He loves that Harry remembers the little details.

_Love._

_Fuck._

Zayn doesn’t move for a few minutes, too tired and overwhelmed to function. But he needs to. He needs to pick up Ev soon and plan dinner. He needs to kiss Harry goodbye before he heads off to work in D.C. for most of the next day.

He also needs to buy a new puzzle, since he promised Ev he would.

 

***

 

Harry decides to stay in D.C. for the night, to see a show with the band he’s working with. He doesn’t call Zayn to ask for permission or for an okay, so much as he exhales it in one breath like it’s nothing. Zayn hears the telltale sounds of a dulled nightclub underneath Harry’s voice on the other end of the phone call, as Harry meanders with the smokers outside. He’d already made the decision before he called Zayn, well after the dinner Zayn made Ev from scratch. He had a Tupperware container for Harry, to heat up for him when he got home.

It wasn’t fancy, but it was dinner they could share together.

“But it’s Valentine’s Day,” Zayn says with a frown.

The frown is a weird reaction for Zayn to have, he realizes. Fuck Valentine’s Day. The holiday is lame. He’s never given a shit over it before. And it’s not like he wanted flowers or chocolate or even a full acknowledgment of the day. He didn’t want Harry to write him a song or even play a shitty cover on his guitar as they had a quiet dessert alone.

He has Ev. It would’ve been just another night for the three of them, maybe a shared bowl of popcorn on the couch as Ev munched at it happily. At the very least, maybe Zayn would’ve done that thing Harry likes, where he holds his hands behind his back until his shoulders ache, as he teased him a bit.

But still. It’s February 14th, and even though it’s stupid, it sort of sucks for Harry to be out of town. They had such an amazing time the day before, for their first time, and it was supposed to be another fun-filled Ev weekend.

“Ah,” Harry groans, probably smacking himself in the face. “Totally forgot that.”

“I mean, it’s whatever,” Zayn shrugs, kicking the trashcan near the fridge so the lid will shut. It has started to stick lately, and he should probably go to Target to buy a new one.

“Valentine’s Day is for suckers, babe. It’s for people who never kiss in the morning or fuck each other for fun anymore. It’s for like, old married couples who get each other cards with shitty Hallmark poems written by poor grad students.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, because it sounds a lot like something he used to say to old girlfriends who got pissed at him for not buying them a stuffed bear or chocolate rose.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. And then he’s yelling something over his shoulder, laughing with some stranger Zayn has never met.

“We’ll celebrate when I’m home,” Harry whispers, coming back to their conversation. He has a tone to his voice Zayn can’t quite place.

“Okay,” Zayn sighs, still shrugging. He realizes he hasn’t heard Ev in awhile and sincerely hopes she’s not getting into any trouble. He pokes his head into the hallway and listens extra hard, but only hears the twinkling of her music box. Much too quiet.

“Tell toots I miss her,” Harry finishes, probably moving through bodies to get back inside the venue. “And I’ll see her in the morning.”

“Yeah, alright. Bye,” Zayn says quickly, hanging up the phone. He shoves it in his pocket to listen again.

He narrows his eyes. _Much_ too quiet.

“Evelyn Naadirah,” he calls out to her like a warning, walking towards her room. “What are you up to?

And then he pushes open Ev’s bedroom door, the sight causing him to groan internally. She smiles at him sheepishly, her toes pointed inward. It’s been her tell since she was a baby, the way her feet tuck inward when she’s nervous or guilty, like she’s done something naughty. And boy did she.

Zayn spends the rest of his Valentine’s Day evening trying to get a massive wad of gum out of Evelyn’s beautiful brown hair. It’s a process that takes much longer than it should, that includes many Google searches, tricks of the trade and old wives tales, _and_ a wad of peanut butter pulled through her curls with an old comb.

In the end, as Ev cries big crocodile tears on the edge of the bathtub, Zayn cuts it out as carefully as he can.

Rachel will probably see the damage and murder him for it.

 

***

 

At around four in the morning, Zayn feels the bed dip to his right. He doesn’t fully open his eyes and his body doesn’t jolt itself into action mode. It’s like all of Zayn’s senses know not to wake up, to continue resting, to keep calm. Because every part of Zayn knows: it’s not Ev crawling into his bed because she’s scared or upset. She’s not sick or hurt, needing him to help her.

He knows it’s Harry.

Harry crowds up behind Zayn and completely engulfs him. He curls himself over Zayn’s back, tucks his foot under Zayn’s calf, and breaths him in like he hasn’t had Zayn under his palms for weeks.

“Hi baby,” Harry muffles into Zayn’s neck, only slightly smelling of whiskey.

Zayn dozes a bit, his breathing still level. But he presses back against Harry, to feel his warmth.

“Didn’t want to stay in D.C. after all,” Harry mutters, already falling asleep. “Wanted to come home.”

“Hmmm,” Zayn answers, sort of.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Harry ends on a whisper, kissing Zayn’s neck.

They’re both asleep thirty seconds later.

 

***

 

** March **

 

Zayn sells a piece to _Fragile_ magazine for a ridiculous amount of money. Like, he’s never seen a check that big with his name on it before kind of money. He pays off the rest of his car with it, and then buys a new helmet for his bike, because he can’t help but be impulsive. A bit. It’s beginning to look more and more like spring, so it’s only fair to give himself a little extra flare when he takes the bike out for the first time. It’s red because Maliks are fiery.

It amazes Zayn how much has changed since the fall. He’s with Harry, they’re mostly settled together, Ev is happier than ever. He suspects that Rachel has started seeing someone from work, a guy she won’t dare to bring around the house, or Evelyn just yet. It makes Zayn’s ears hot, to realize that maybe that would’ve been a better course of action: keep his relationship as far away from his kid as possible, until he was sure it was built on steady ground.

But Harry doesn’t give him any reason to worry.

He helps with picking Ev up from school some days. He says Miss Sisson is a really nice lady, and Zayn should get to know her better. He even visits Show and Tell one afternoon, with his ukulele to sing for the kids.

Zayn researches places to take Ev once school is out, somewhere along the coast, a beach house they can stay in for a week or two. He knows she loves to be outside and how much she loves to make sand castles.

Harry looks over his shoulder that day, and tuts obnoxiously.

“I’ve told you the beaches in California are better, but if you _insist_ on staying around here, then fine,” he sighs dramatically, before stomping away like an idiot.

“Make sure you take some time off,” Zayn calls out to him over his shoulder, “so we can book it early.”

“Remind me later and I will!” Harry yells out from the bathroom.

They plan day trips and more visits to the science museum since Ev loved it so much the first time. She says when she grows up, she wants to be an astronaut _and_ a paleontologist _and_ a singer _and_ a scuba diver in Australia.

Ev puts on a play one night, in another one of Rachel’s stolen skirts, and has Zayn do the fish voice for almost every single one of her stuffed animals. Harry claps so furiously, he shows Ev afterwards how red his palms got.

He also whispers to Zayn, like the fucking moron he is, that he hopes he isn’t the only one with red palms that night. He winks and says he needs a “good spanking,” which has Zayn almost smacking him upside the back of the head for being so brazen with Ev in the room.

That’s sort of how it goes for the rest of the month: afternoons spent with Ev, every other weekend with Ev, and the time in between, Zayn wears his other “hats.”

He’s Zayn, writer and boyfriend. He does boyfriend shit whenever Harry drags him along, even though Harry’s never called him his boyfriend other than that one time. He introduces him to everyone with a simple, “This is Zayn.” (But Zayn speaks to Harry’s mother on the phone sometimes, so honestly who does Harry think he’s kidding?) They go out drinking with Harry’s friends mostly, to bars around town that cost too much and over-serve too readily. Zayn attends more shows than he can count, always tucked against Harry’s side, meeting a shit ton of new people who Harry knows from both California and New York.

Harry goes to Vegas one weekend, for some showcase Zayn can’t remember the name of. But it’s an Ev weekend, so Zayn stays behind. He cooks her dinner and lets her eat a few pieces of non-gum candy, since she’s no longer allowed gum. Rachel said so, over the phone to Zayn, while she told him off for letting her have a piece of gum in the first place. Zayn had no idea gum was such a big fucking deal. But then again, he still learns something new every day, whether it be a fact Ev tells him she learned in school or Rachel explaining one of his many shortcomings.

But best of all these days, Zayn is gay. So Harry fucks him against the bathroom sink, as they knock over all of the soap and toothpaste to the floor. Zayn also fucks Harry, bent over his too-firm mattress, with a hand on Harry’s lower back. He’s missed giving it to someone good, them crying out his name, a fist of hair to pull when he’s close.

Harry even makes Zayn walk into the apartment one night, with his new motorcycle helmet on, to role play like he’s some tough biker who just got back from a cross country road trip.

Harry, still as ridiculous as ever, pretends to be angry at Zayn for leaving him all by his lonesome, to go mess around with other boys in far off places. Zayn removes his helmet and revels in the look on Harry’s face, when he sees the “grease” on Zayn’s cheek (dirt from outside) and the toothpick in his mouth.

“I’m a rolling stone, babe,” Zayn says with a smirk, sauntering over to Harry who is wearing nothing but a kitchen apron. “Can’t tie me down.”

He fucks Harry so hard right there on the couch, Zayn’s pretty sure he won’t ever get his security deposit back, what with the scrapes the couch makes all over the hardwood floor.

Spring marches closer, the grass starts to grow in the courtyard, flowers begin to bloom.

They continue to play house and all is well.

 

***

 

One night, Zayn wakes up on his stomach, to the sounds and motion of his bed jostling. He never wakes up anymore when Harry flops around like a dying fish in his sleep, or if he gets up to pee. So for Zayn to wake up, it can only mean one thing. His body knows before he does: _Ev, what’s wrong, are you okay, are you sick, tell me where it hurts._

Zayn turns over, eyes bleary and bloodshot, ready to assess the damage.

But Ev has already found her solace. Harry must’ve woken up before Zayn did, because he’s sitting up in bed cross-legged, rubbing his hands down his face to wake himself up further.

Ev settles in his lap like she belongs there, as Harry wraps his long arms around her so she can cry softly into his chest.

“Aw toots, what’s the matter?” Harry coos tiredly, resting his cheek on her head, rocking her.

“I had – a bad – dream,” she whispers back between little sobs.

Zayn props his head up on his hand, waiting to see if he should interject or help Harry out. But he seems to have it handled. He rubs Ev’s back like Zayn always does, soothes her like he’d soothe a baby.

“It was just a dream,” Harry says warmly, completely exhausted but trying. “It’s over.”

“There was – a monster – and it was,” Ev says, hiccuping, “chasing me and I couldn’t run because I didn’t have my shoes tied.”

Harry chuckles a bit, right as Zayn smiles to himself. She really does need to learn how to tie her shoes. Rachel keeps telling him to do the loop-swoop-and-pull thing, but he never remembers.

“Oh babe,” Harry laments with her, “that sounds scary.”

“It was,” Ev moans miserably, sniffling.

“But it was just a dream,” Harry whispers and rocks her, like he’s telling her a bedtime story. His vowels broaden, his syllables flow together like he’s reading a poem. “Bad dreams can’t hurt us. And if you ever have that dream again, you know what you should do?”

“What?” Ev replies, already getting sleepy again from Harry’s soft words.

“Kick your shoes off, toots,” Harry whispers right into her ear, to get her to giggle. “Just kick those dumb shoes right off, and run like the wind.”

“I’ll try,” she sighs.

“You wanna try to go back to bed?”

“I can’t sleep anymore,” Ev says.

Harry shifts up the bed a bit, to get her in between them.

“You wanna sleep in daddy’s bed, then? Let’s sleep here together.”

Ev nods and wipes her nose on her nightgown, like a true Malik, and crawls under the covers. As soon as her head hits the pillow, her eyes begin to droop. Zayn leans right over and smooths her hair, wipes at her cheeks, kisses her forehead. He wants her to know he’s awake if she needs him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers. _Baby Evelyn, little Evie, my baby, my Ev._ _Perfect. Safe. Mine mine mine._

She falls asleep with Harry and Zayn on either side of her. She turns her head towards Harry, but she grips Zayn’s thumb in her hand.

Zayn looks up to thank Harry with his eyes. He almost says something else, three words he probably shouldn’t say now. But Harry has already joined Ev and fallen back asleep, his head tilted towards hers like they were just telling secrets. His hair lies wildly around his face on the pillow. He always drools a bit in his sleep, and tonight is no different. He sleeps in ridiculous shapes, he tucks his hand under the pillow at an awkward angle, but he’s beautiful. If Zayn could reach him without jostling Ev or waking her up, he’d run his finger down Harry’s stubbled cheek.

_Perfect. Safe. Mine mine mine._

***

 

She shows up on the last day of March. A Thursday afternoon, before Zayn is due to pick Ev up from school.

Ev had art class that day, so she’s sure to be especially excited. Zayn hopes she drew him something. He has a feeling she could be a solid artist one day, if she really kept at it.

Zayn is sitting at his desk, glasses perched on his face, while he checks in with one of his old college sources. It’s a professor he had way back when, a nice man he could always count on for a quote. He has the window looking into the courtyard open a crack, to let some fresh air in, even though it forced him to put on one of Harry’s sweatshirts.

Harry putters around the kitchen on his phone for a while, going over the crew list of an upcoming recording session with one of his other producers. The session drummer he had lined up suddenly decided to visit Nicaragua for six weeks straight, so he was kind of in a bind.

Zayn doesn’t notice the movement in the courtyard at first, too enveloped in his laptop. But a blinding light hits his peripheral vision, like the sun hitting a belt buckle or CD just right, temporarily blinding him.

He looks up and realizes there’s a girl at Harry’s door. He can only see the back of her. She knocks insistently, her long, wild blond hair almost down to her waist blowing in the wind. She’s wearing a backpack with a hole in the side, ripped up jeans and a thin white shirt without a jacket over it. Zayn almost wants to scold her, _you’ll get a cold in this weather._

Harry must hear the knocking because he comes out of the kitchen to stand next to Zayn’s desk. He has his phone in one hand and a handful of grapes in the other, his eyes narrowed at this stranger at his door.

“Who…” Zayn starts to say, head cocked to the side.

Harry cocks his own head, like he’s trying to remember something. He looks like Ev, confused like he’s trying to remember a math problem. Zayn almost says so, that Harry looks just like Ev when she can’t remember how to spell “that” when they do her spelling homework.

Harry’s mouth starts to form a word of assent, like he’s given up trying to figure out who she is. He’s at just as much of a loss as Zayn is. Maybe she’s selling something? She looks down at a piece of paper in her hand, like she’s checking the address.

She turns her head slightly, to look in through Harry’s front window.

And then it dawns on Harry. He recognizes her after all.

“Cheyenne?” he says loudly, like he can’t believe it.

She must hear her own name, must know it’s Harry calling to her. Because she turns around fully, to look right into Zayn’s living room. She’s gorgeous, Zayn notes. Naturally beautiful with freckles on her nose, her cheeks pink from the wind, her bright green eyes shining. But her face is blank.

She stares at Harry, even as she holds up an awkward hand clutching the piece of paper between slender fingers.

Harry stares back at her. Face white as a sheet.

And isn't that just like Zayn, to be unprepared. Behind. Off-beat and misstepping his way through life. Because it takes him a solid twenty seconds longer than Harry to look about a foot south of her face. It takes him twelve seconds more to realize that the girl on Harry’s doorstep is staring at Harry like the whole world is about to change.

Because it is.

This girl, the one Harry called Cheyenne, has just rocked their little world by merely existing.

This girl, the one Harry must know pretty fucking well, is definitely, 100% without a doubt pregnant.

 

***


	3. Dancing Daisies

 

** April **

 

Every so often, Zayn catches himself wondering about Evelyn and what her first memory will end up being. She’s still so young and impressionable, her brain still developing into what it’ll be for the rest of her life, so there’s not much room for long-term memory just yet. Her days consist of “I wants” and “I likes,” with not much worry over anything else. She loves and hates. She sees vibrant colors, tastes new foods, and touches soft things like kittens and fleece. She wanders out into the world, with one of her parents close by to grab her hand before danger can befall her.

At some point, on one random day, she’ll experience something that will stay with her until her dying day. A memory. An inkling of a memory she in equal measure can’t forget and can’t quite place. Zayn wonders about it sometimes, when he can’t sleep. _Was today the day? Will her first memory be a trip to the zoo with her goofy father? Or was it when I wouldn’t let her have her way, and she cried for two hours? Is that it? Will she remember it even when she has grandchildren?_

He hopes her first memory is pleasant. Or at the very least, not unpleasant.

Zayn tries to push himself, to really dig deep for his own first memory. He’s pretty sure the earliest moment he can remember was from either kindergarten or first grade. He was maybe five or six. He distinctly remembers being the kind of child to ask his parents to “leave the door open a crack” every night as they tucked him in for bed. He said he was afraid of the dark. He said he didn’t like the sound of a door latching shut, so his dad always made sure to leave it open just enough for the living room light to filter into his room.

What a little liar he was.

They lived in a duplex at the time, right before they had enough money for a down payment for the house the Maliks still live in to this day. His parents didn’t even have a bedroom in the duplex, and instead had to sleep on the pullout couch every night in the cramped living room. That left the two small bedrooms to Zayn and his older sister, to sleep and dream in while their parents tucked close together on the flimsy mattress that faced the TV.

All Zayn can remember is sneaking over to his bedroom door, crawling on his hands and knees with his little pillow and blanket, to lay right there on the floor. He’d scoot all the way up to the door itself, to lay parallel to it so he could watch TV through the crack. He’d be quiet as a mouse, to not disturb Trisha and Yaser with their bowl of popcorn, perched on the couch before they turned it into a bed. The three of them, watching TV until ten at night. He used to giggle to himself about it, how they probably would’ve fainted at the sight of the small pair of eyeballs peeking out from their son’s darkened room.

His earliest memory. It’s why he still says he loves “Cheers” reruns so much. He watched that show before he ever even knew what it meant. As a five year old, he just liked the theme song. He liked feeling like part of the team, the Maliks in their little living room, escaping into a sitcom for a while.

For most of his life, Zayn thought he had gotten away with something, like it was a game or a challenge, that he hadn’t gotten caught for being out of bed. He’s lucky he never fell asleep there on the floor, only to have his parents smack him in the face with the door in the morning, when coming to wake him up. But he was smart. Too smart. The second he heard credits rolling, with music underscoring the final lines of dialogue, he’d grab his bedding and fast as anything, would hop back into bed to slam his eyes shut. His parents always checked on Zayn and Doniya, before they settled in for the night. They’d open their doors to look in on their children, to see them breathing deeply, off in Never Never Land.

Zayn heard them as he tucked his face into his pillow, to feign sleep. He never once got caught for faking it.

But now Zayn’s a father. He sees Ev going over her own little mischievous plans as if he wouldn’t notice, contemplating how to sneak cookies into her pockets, whispering secrets to imaginary friends. Now that he’s a father, he knows better. His parents knew he was out of bed and at his bedroom door the whole time. Every night he ever crawled over to watch TV with them, they knew. Maybe that was why they never watched anything beyond upbeat sitcoms. No scary movies, no serious dramas. They never wanted Zayn to see the heavy stuff, if they could help it.

He should call his dad and ask about those early days at the duplex, to test the theory.

Zayn wonders what Ev will remember from this time in her life. Will she remember the first few weeks after her parents separated? Will she tell a therapist someday how it fucked her up, to hear them fighting but never say so? Will her first memory be like Zayn’s, cute and silly, with her dad present? Maybe he’s there. He hopes so. Maybe it’ll be the night she was woken up out of a deep sleep to go play in the snow.

Or will it be the day her dad picked her up from school, his face as white as a ghost, blank and empty, after a pregnant girl showed up on Harry’s doorstep?

Will she remember Harry at all?

 

***

 

It’s after midnight and Zayn can’t sleep. He ends up perched on the kitchen chair that wobbles a bit, in Harry’s gym shorts, twirling a beer bottle in one hand. He’s doing that thing where he sits alone to think about Ev’s short life thus far. What she’ll hold onto, as she gets older. What she’ll comprehend and remember. It’s starting to make his head hurt. He wishes the temperature didn’t have to drop as much as it did overnight this time of year, otherwise he’d skip the beer entirely and go ride his bike down a deserted highway or something.

He can’t seem to bring himself to try to go back to his bedroom, where Harry is. He’s down the hall in Zayn’s bed wearing a pair of Zayn’s boxers, with his hair tied into a bun with one of Ev’s ribbons, probably fast asleep from sheer exhaustion. It had been a long day, after all. Zayn should try to rest alongside him. They both needed the sleep. Because they still had so much to look forward to the next day, when Cheyenne would be back.

That’s what Harry called her, when he finally realized who the girl in the courtyard was. Cheyenne, like she was some country singer or something. It’s how he introduced her to Zayn outside in the sunshine, with wide eyes and sweat along his forehead, his hands shaking so hard he had to shove them in his pockets.

Zayn didn’t want them to venture into his apartment or make themselves at home. So pulled his keys from his pocket, said a quick goodbye to them both standing in the courtyard, and bolted from the building as quickly as he could. He needed to pick up Ev. Because Ev was his priority, his Number One, the only thing that mattered. He can’t ever be late to pick her up. So he went ten miles over the speed limit to get there. He pulled her to his chest until she was whining about being too big for it, kissed her cheeks, and asked if she had a good day. If he focused on Ev, he didn’t have to focus on the mess that he left behind.

When they got back to the apartment, Harry and the girl were gone. Maybe they were across the courtyard in Harry’s apartment. Or maybe she was a figment of Zayn’s imagination entirely, and she never even existed. But Zayn couldn’t focus on Harry and that girl, because he had to focus on his child.

Keep her breathing, keep her fed, make her happy.

So he fed Ev a snack. He peeled them an orange to split. She asked where Harry was, so Zayn diverted her attention to her backpack. He sat with her at the table while she practiced her letters, humming her special Harry song as she scribbled away with a pink pencil. She can write a mean T these days. Some of the best T’s Zayn has ever seen, which is what he told her when Rachel picked her up. “You’re a little genius, so smart, such a fast learner,” he whispered in Ev’s ear, to make her giggle and blush.

Then he spent the rest of the early evening pacing his living room like that first day, waiting and wondering. He tossed clothes into the laundry basket, to remind himself to do a load or four over the weekend. Made a note to call ARJ about a recent pay stub. Pay his car insurance.

Harry came home right after dinnertime, with his hair a wild mess. Zayn watched him cross the courtyard to his door, to let himself into Zayn’s apartment with the key Zayn had made for him. He couldn’t stand up straight, like his back was in a big C shape. He hunched. He stared at Zayn with pleading eyes, like everything was awful and Zayn should try to fix it.

“We… she’ll be back tomorrow, she said. To talk more,” he nodded, his eyes vacant.

Zayn stared at him.

“I just sort of… I didn’t really say much. We drove around for a while. She… due in June, I guess. In the third trimester now,” Harry nodded again, his head looking like it was too heavy for his neck to hold upright.

“Harry,” Zayn said, asking the question without asking the question.

“I did the math,” Harry said, his voice finally shaking, his fingers picking at his lip like when he’s nervous. “Thought about it. Calculated the days and what not.”

Zayn finally stepped to him, as the full weight of the admission settled around them. He grabbed for Harry and held him close. Harry buried his face into Zayn’s neck as he cried silently, his chest heaving. Zayn remembers this well, when he told someone for the first time. Rach said to keep it a secret, but he couldn’t. He had to go home. And just like this, Zayn’s dad let him cry into his shoulder, too.

That was hours ago, when they both held tight and kept quiet. Harry still couldn’t say anything. He didn’t attempt to explain himself, or the situation. So he mumbled about a shower and good night’s sleep, and walked away. Zayn knows it’s only a matter of time, before his quiet shock turns into a loud, desperate outburst. Zayn kept pretty quiet when he found out about Ev being on the way, until one morning he exploded, his fears and anxieties practically sticking to the walls like wet spaghetti, he threw them out so hard and fast.

Zayn thought about reaching for the new puzzle he bought, featuring the Great Barrier Reef. But he left it under the couch and instead ended up trying to write at his desk for a while, to leave Harry alone. It didn’t work because his brain wasn’t functioning to full capacity. It was useless to even try.

So now Zayn lays his head down on his forearms there at the table, all at once exhausted and too wide-awake to even consider sleep. His thoughts run a mile a minute, crashing into each other in the wrong order.

This girl, Cheyenne Something, will be at his front door the next day to tell her story. To explain where they all go from here. It’s just that Zayn’s never heard of her. He doesn’t know if she’s an old friend of Harry’s, someone from his childhood, maybe just an old fuck buddy. Maybe it won’t matter either way, because whoever she is, she’s not going away. _Or worse, what if she lives in another fucking country and needs Harry to go with her?_ _Jesus, how long had he been fucking her? Were Zayn and Harry already together then? Fucking hell Zayn, you never even asked if you were together_ now! _You never once asked if he was your fucking boyfriend. Did you ever mention being exclusive? Rachel always knew you were a fucking idiot._

Zayn thumps his head onto the table a few times, the sound reverberating around his little apartment like someone knocking on the front door. But unlike Harry, it can’t be the door because Zayn hasn’t fucked any women lately. He won’t have anyone showing up months after the fact, carrying his kid. That’s just Harry. Wayward, fucked up by his daddy issues, mess of a man Harry. Zayn should’ve known better. Maybe it was all too good to be fucking true, for someone like Harry to keep close, stick around, settle into Zayn’s life and family.

Zayn keeps his face there in the wood of his kitchen table and blinks slowly, giving into the nagging thoughts about Harry leaving him once and for all.

Maybe Rachel was right all along.

 

***

 

Zayn wakes up when a warm hand grips the back of his neck. He startles a bit, the lukewarm beer still in his hand jostling from the movement. He fell asleep right there at the table, his drool in a small puddle to his right. He sits up and realizes it’s Harry standing next to him, kneading his neck a bit, warming him up from the inside out.

“Hi,” he says quietly, looking down at Zayn’s tired face.

“Hey, sorry,” Zayn finds himself apologizing, rubbing his cheeks. “Fell asleep.”

“Come to bed,” Harry says with a frown, pulling Zayn up. “I can’t sleep without you.”

Zayn blinks and then grabs for Harry’s face. He holds him with tender hands and kisses his mouth, which has gone dry and stale. He then takes Harry’s hand and leads them back to the bedroom, to settle together. Harry turns so he’s the little spoon, his expansive back up against Zayn’s chest. They’re both chilled from the night air, and Zayn is thankful to be under the blankets.

He kisses Harry’s shoulder over and over, like he needs it to ground himself. Zayn could fucking kick himself, because Harry hasn’t left. He’s not going anywhere. He must be fucking terrified, entirely too unprepared, wondering how it could even be possible. And he can’t sleep when Zayn isn’t next to him.

Zayn thinks he’s going to drop off into sleep soon, if he holds onto him long enough. Harry will eventually have to relax. His muscles can’t stay taught and tense forever. So Zayn waits. He kisses his shoulder, the back of his neck. He slots a leg between Harry’s.

And then out of nowhere, Harry grabs for Zayn’s hand and pulls it so it rests over his chest. Still awake.

“I need to tell you,” Harry says in a low voice, like he’s trying to keep it steady and in control.

Zayn exhales into the space between Harry’s shoulder blades.

“Go to sleep, H. We can talk tomorrow.”

“No, I want to say it.”

“Say what,” Zayn asks tentatively, afraid for whatever it is.

“She said she’s twenty nine weeks.”

Zayn just nods a bit, knocking his forehead against Harry’s skin. It’s hot to the touch now. Zayn learned a lot about pregnancy, having gone through it himself. He had the luxury of being there when Rachel found out, when she had actually _lost_ weight from a crash diet and wondered why she hadn’t gotten her period. So he read up, knew the progress week by week because all he could do was study. He was too freaked out over impending fatherhood to read “how to be a dad” books and instead focused on the science-based pregnancy material.

Twenty-nine weeks. The baby inside of Cheyenne is probably about the size of a butternut squash. That was Zayn’s takeaway from each new week: how big his child was compared to various fruits and vegetables. He started to call it their Produce Baby, and when Rachel still found him to be somewhat funny, it always made her giggle.

Twenty-nine weeks. Its eyes have started to flutter. It can move more, side to side even, before getting into official birthing position with its head down.

Cheyenne still has over two months to go.

Zayn feels his lip quiver a bit, so he sucks it into his mouth so he can bite on it instead. Harry sniffs and wipes his face with his palm, careful to hold onto Zayn with his other hand.

“I need you to know… it was before. You were just the guy who lived next door, that was all. I… It was before. I met her last year, and then we… But never after that. Never again.”

Zayn hugs him closer and shifts a bit, so he can hook his chin up on Harry’s shoulder. He shouldn’t have thought of Harry as a fucked up mess earlier, when he was sitting in the kitchen to leave Harry alone and on his own. His entire future has shifted itself in one fell swoop and no one should be alone when that happens.

But it doesn’t change the fact that this is Harry Styles, and he’s never, not once, told Zayn what they’re doing. Not officially.

“And now?” Zayn wonders, needing to hear it.

“Now what?”

“You said it was before. Before whatever we started. What did we start?”

_Say it, Harry. Say we’re together. Us. I love you. Let me be here. Let me help you._

But Harry doesn’t say a word. He instead rolls over and shoves his leg between Zayn’s instead, their hips touching. He kisses Zayn, hard and insistent like all he wants is to forget where their lives are headed.

Zayn lets him. He lets Harry hover in that in-between place, where he hasn’t fully realized or accepted what this all means. _A baby, a child, all yours yours yours._ And it’s then that Zayn knows: he needs to prepare himself for the worst. If Harry needs to go off and live this new life, with a new family, Zayn has to prepare.

He needs to think of Ev. And maybe he’ll have to prepare her, too.

 

***

 

She knocks on Harry’s door promptly at noon the next day. Zayn sits at the nice wooden kitchen table, on a plush chair that doesn’t wobble, and exhales a huge breath to calm himself. He grips the hot cup of coffee between his palms until it practically burns him. He stands up right as Harry tentatively makes his way over to the door, to let her in.She’s fucking pretty. Like, stupid pretty. Zayn tries to ignore that, the way her features sit so delicately, her skin warm and icy all at once, her huge nest of blonde ringletted hair that takes up literal space around her. She could be a model, with that wild, bohemian look of hers. Hell, maybe she is.

“Hey,” Harry says, trying to smile politely.

“Hey,” she nods in return, setting a bag down on Harry’s couch. She’s in jeans again, the same ripped pair that must accommodate her stomach, an oversized sweater, and Vans. But she’s still very much pregnant, noticeably so even under a thick layer of black cotton.

She looks around at Harry’s space. The huge Ikea bookshelf with his records. The wall where he has a few plaques that he swears all labels give out, not that he’s important, rich, or accomplished as a producer yet. He made sure to light a candle, to open the curtains, and have a cup of tea ready for her.

“You remember Zayn,” Harry says, voice still uneven and so unlike his regular confident cadence. “From yesterday.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cheyenne says to Zayn, her eyes kind. She reaches a hand out to him, as she sits in the chair next to his, as she says, “Jeff said you might be here. I mean, I figured I’d meet you.”

Zayn frowns and shakes her hand, confused.

She looks up to Harry, who still hasn’t settled his nervous feet or sat down with them. He just stands there awkwardly, holding the tea out to her.

“Jeff said you had a boyfriend now,” she says like it’s nothing.

Harry blinks and finally sits down on Zayn’s other side. He pulls at a lock of hair near his temple and flips it up over the crown of his head, which as always, looks ridiculous. Then under the table, he scrambles and grabs for Zayn’s hand to hold onto. Zayn told him he didn’t need to be there for the conversation, if Harry wanted it to be private. Which was stupid, because Zayn probably needed to hear everything. Lucky for Zayn, Harry insisted he couldn’t do it by himself.

Zayn clears his throat.

“So…” he starts to say, to force the two of them to get a move on.

Cheyenne looks at Harry, while he looks at her dumbly, before he shakes his head. He moves closer to Zayn so their legs are touching, so he can explain it. Finally.

“Um, so we met in August. I was with Jeff and his girlfriend, we all were at that loft party,” Harry gestures to Cheyenne, to remember along with him.

“I was with my friend who knew Jeff from school. That was a fun one.”

“Yeah.”

“And then we met up again at Revolution Fest in September,” she says to Zayn, like he should know or understand the reference.

“Music festival,” Harry says quietly. “They hold it every year near here. Just up by Olney.”

“Three days worth of music, it’s amazing,” Cheyenne nods, her hair flying a bit. Zayn notices she has stopped holding onto her tea, and instead has her hands on her belly. Rachel used to do it all the time, when Ev was kicking. She’d rub at the firm skin of her growing stomach, like it could help. She must feel the kicking now as she sits there. She keeps up the circular motion, but Harry hasn’t noticed. His eyes haven’t traveled south of Cheyenne’s face since she walked in the door. It’s like he’s actively trying to ignore it.

“Yeah, so we… we shared a tent.”

“We sure did,” Cheyenne nods, her cheeks flushed slightly from embarrassment.

Zayn blinks at the both of them.

“But we were… safe. Right? And then I never saw you again,” Harry says to her, his face serious. “We didn’t like, have any expectations to keep in contact. We didn’t…”

“We were _mostly_ safe.”

Harry winces and glances towards the table.

“We had fun,” Cheyenne says with a small frown, still holding onto her stomach as her cheeks pink up even further.

“We had fun for a few days, and that was it,” Harry says more to Zayn than to Cheyenne.

“Very much two-ships-passing-in-the-night kind of thing,” Cheyenne also says to Zayn, assuring him. “Definitely nothing more than that.”

Zayn nods, because that’s fair. If Cheyenne is twenty-nine weeks pregnant, and this all happened in September, it makes sense. He barely knew Harry then. Harry was the guy who helped Zayn open his front door that first Ev day, the guy who invited him over for some beer and conversation. Just random neighbors who hung out when they didn’t have anything better to do.

Zayn could only focus on his kid, and Harry had the freedom to go fuck a twenty-four-year old out in the countryside for three days straight.

Zayn realizes they’ve all been sitting in silence for a few seconds, awkwardly looking around the room instead of at each other. He’s just about to say something, when instead Cheyenne exhales and blows a strand of hair away from her eyes.

She must need to psyche herself up into it, because she physically sits up straight and cracks her neck. She moves her chair closer to the table and lets go of her stomach. She levels the both of them, her head bouncing back and forth. She actually resembles Rachel, when she’d practice in front of Zayn for upcoming mediations between opposing parties. Steady and sure.

“So I should just get it out,” Cheyenne says with a nod, grabbing for her tea again, a few rings clinking into the porcelain. “Tell you why I’m here.”

Harry bites at his lip nervously and shifts uncomfortably.

“I was talking to my mom,” Cheyenne says, “and she said I needed to come talk to you. She said you deserved to know. Said it was only fair.”

Zayn nods at her, to go on.

“My mom had me when she was seventeen. She did it all alone, without anyone’s help. She worked really hard and fought for everything she had,” Cheyenne says without blinking. “So I’m telling you right now, Harry… I don’t need your help. I don’t _want_ your help.”

Zayn glances at Harry and sees his jaw drop a fraction of an inch.

“I didn’t expect this, and I certainly never asked for it. I… I didn’t even realize I was pregnant until I was like, nine weeks along. Not that my menstrual cycle is any of your business, but it’s not always predictable,” she says with a fierce, discerning look. She barrels on, on a roll. “And if you are curious, other than you, I haven’t had sex in like a year. So it’s definitely yours. We can do an official test, if that’s what you need. I just… I didn’t know this was going to happen. It was just as much of a surprise to me.”

Zayn grips Harry’s hand harder. She shakes her head, like she needs to focus and get it all out, without meandering.

“But it happened. I thought about getting rid of it. But then I didn’t. I haven’t. So… I’m having this baby, I’m due in June, and that’s it.”

Harry opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I wasn’t even going to tell you, because it was my decision to keep it. It’s my body, my baby, and I can do it by myself. I have my mom, and my friends, and I can do it. I don’t need you,” she says right to Harry, sure of herself. “But my mom was right when she said you deserved to know. And you deserve to be around, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want?” Harry repeats dumbly.

“If you want to be involved, you can be involved. I don’t need you dropping down on one knee, proposing with like, your grandmother’s engagement ring,” she says, rolling her eyes at the cliché. “I don’t want to be with you, or expect you to drop everything and rub my feet every night.”

Zayn actually smiles at that. He sort of likes Cheyenne already. She reminds him of his mother. Tough. The kind of girl to rope you in with a gorgeous smile, and then tell you to your face that you’re not as funny as you think you are when you tell a shitty joke.

Just then, she brings a swift hand down to her belly, pressing in just to the right of her bellybutton.

“Kicking hard, huh?” Zayn asks, surprising himself.

Harry and Cheyenne both turn to him. Harry stares at Zayn with wide eyes, like he’s just seeing him for the first time.

“Oh God, like crazy these days,” Cheyenne admits, still speaking to Zayn. “The books said I wouldn’t feel it until like the twentieth week, but I definitely felt it before that.”

“Yeah that can happen,” Zayn nods. “It’s usually between sixteen and twenty-two, actually.”

She blinks at him.

“I have a kid,” Zayn admits quietly, which actually makes her smile widely.

“Yeah, that was this one,” she points to her stomach, showing her front teeth in their slightly crooked glory. “Eighteen weeks and kicking around like a soccer player.”

Zayn smiles. He looks at Harry again, to see his face blank. He should be asking questions. He should have more to say, more to grasp, since he’s already missed so much. He wasn’t there for the first kicks, the first movements. He wasn’t at any sonograms, or baby classes. He doesn’t even know if he’s going to be the father of a girl or a boy.

Zayn tries to send the message, but it never seems to land with Harry. They can never speak with just their eyes.

So Zayn does it for him.

“Is it a boy or girl?” he asks Cheyenne with a calm voice.

“I’m not finding out,” she says proudly. “I figure the universe doesn’t give us many true surprises in life. Might as well embrace the unknown.”

Zayn nods, realizing in that moment what Harry saw in Cheyenne all those months ago. She feels like someone Harry would’ve gravitated to. Zayn quite likes her.

And he understands that train of thought regarding the surprise, even though he himself had to know immediately. Rachel didn’t mind waiting until the birth to know, but Zayn couldn’t wait. Once they hit week sixteen, Zayn asked Rachel’s doctor to know the sex of the baby. But like a true Malik, their child refused to cooperate with a clear view. So it took two additional doctor visits, before they knew they were having an Evelyn and not an Evan.

Cheyenne rubs at her stomach for a few more seconds, before turning to Harry once more.

“So that’s it,” she nods. “Now you know. I’m going to give you my address and number. You can visit whenever, come to any future doctor appointments. If you want to be in this, you can be. I’ll call you when I go into labor.”

“But what if I…” Harry starts to say, his eyes screwed up.

“You’re either all in, or you’re not,” she says, reading his mind. “Can’t go half way with this one, Harry. I don’t want you at the birth of my child, only to tell me three months later that you’re over it. I won’t let you. Your name is either on the birth certificate, or it’s not. Your choice.”

Cheyenne’s fierceness, the way she holds herself and stares Harry down, is almost jarring. Harry blinks and still doesn’t say anything to that. Zayn feels like she’s running ahead of them and they can’t seem to catch up, even though their legs are longer.

But then Zayn shakes his head. If Harry won’t fucking speak up, he will. He almost tells her that it doesn’t work like that, that a man can’t watch his child be born into the world and then _leave_. It’s not natural. It’s not how the universe designed it. Even if Harry has doubts, or is scared, he’ll be there. He’ll hold his kid in that hospital room in June, and he’ll never, ever be “over it.”

He has to stop himself. Because that’s exactly what Harry’s dad did, and millions of other dads all over the globe. Moms, too. Some people leave and they don’t come back. They leave and their kids turn out like Harry: someone whose parents fucked him up, with drive and determination to flee conflict, toppling into bed with random boys and girls because he craves true detached intimacy.

Zayn and Harry must both be frowning towards Cheyenne, because she clears her throat and continues.

“There’s still time, so just… let me know when you decide what you want to do. And seriously, no pressure. If you’re not ready, or can’t… I get it. I really do. And I’ll be fine. I can write letters with updates or send you baby pictures sometimes, if that’s what you want instead. You know, see it all happen from afar.”

Harry squeezes Zayn’s hand and Zayn suspects because it won’t stop shaking. Cheyenne shrugs and holds her stomach between her hands, doing that thing Rachel used to do: applying pressure from both sides to ease the moving butternut squash squirming around in there.

But Zayn can’t stop gaping at her. How can she seriously think Harry will consider that offer? How could anyone? She’s sitting right in front of Harry, a woman he liked enough to sleep with, someone he shared a raucous, fun tent with for days on end, and now she’s carrying his baby. Half of Harry’s DNA made the kid kicking her in the ribs, and she thinks Harry might prefer a Christmas card in December, or a letter once year with a school picture inside.

Harry clears his throat and shakes his head, pulling Zayn out of his thoughts.

“I’ll call you,” Harry nods to Cheyenne, his voice cracking. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

Cheyenne blinks at him and gives him a pitying half-smile. Then she turns to Zayn and gives him the same look. It feels heavy. The expression feels uneven and weird and not at all what he expects from her.

Zayn and Harry stand with her in the living room as she collects her bag. They wait side by side while she writes her information down on a random piece of paper she had stuffed inside a notebook. And then they wave as she exits the apartment and heads across the courtyard to leave them be.

Harry didn’t hug her or ask how she’s feeling. He didn’t reach for her stomach, or ask to feel, or anticipate a kick. Zayn watches with morbid fascination as Harry then takes Cheyenne’s mug of tea and dumps it down the sink with unblinking eyes.

Zayn waits for Harry to say something or ask for his opinion. He waits for Harry to hug him, or hold tight, or in some way acknowledge what just happened. But instead Harry walks down the hall to his bedroom and disappears.

Zayn could follow him, but he doesn’t.

 

***

 

A few hours later, Zayn waits outside of Ev’s school in the muted sunshine. Still so good at compartmentalizing, he pretends he’s just Zayn the writer then, in his leather and ripped jeans, not a care in the world. He leans against his car, very much aware that the dirt and grime stuck to the black paint after months of snow and ice, are now probably all over his ass. Maybe a few mothers will look over at him and swoon a bit, at his hair blowing in the wind. He can’t find it in himself to care, too content with being alone for a few minutes. He also can’t find it in himself to lead a smoke-free life, not after the few days they’ve had.

He sucks on a cigarette from the hidden pack in his glove box and kicks at a few rocks with the toe of his boot, in full view of some of the other dads. They’re probably judging him like crazy, Evelyn Malik’s shitty father in the beat up jacket who can’t ever seem to get his car washed. He blows a few smoke rings up towards the sky and watches them fade.

Harry didn’t ask to come with him to the school. He didn’t ask Zayn what they should have for dinner, or if Zayn could pick him up a few things from the store. They both know they’re out of olive oil, and yet neither have gone out of their way to purchase the kitchen staple. It’s not a good sign. It means Harry doesn’t plan on cooking any time soon, and it’s an Ev weekend and everything.

As Zayn tosses his cigarette to the ground, the various groups of children come spilling out of the red school doors. They skip and play, holding hands, running to their parents or carpools. Zayn looks for her, his head swiveling slightly, in anticipation of Ev’s little head bobbing along, her eyes and straight nose the same as his. After the way Harry acted earlier with Cheyenne, the only thing he can think of is Ev and how much he fucking loves her.

He tries to remember what it was like for him six years ago, when he found out Rachel was pregnant. Sure, it was his actual girlfriend who he had the experience with, and not an almost-stranger like Cheyenne is to Harry. So maybe that’s where the detachment comes from. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for Harry to grasp and understand. Zayn could kiss Rachel whenever he wanted to, if he was scared or freaked out. He really did love her once, sort of. And maybe he didn’t have _time_ to detach or truly freak out. Because very soon after Rachel got pregnant, they were planning a wedding and buying a house from her parents because they thought they should. There was a lot to get done in those few months before Ev arrived, so maybe Zayn looks back on it and only sees himself as the doting, book-reading father-to-be instead of the forgetful buzzcutted asshole who asked Rachel seventeen times if she “was sure” the pregnancy test read positive.

He definitely cried all over his father. He definitely had the brief thought that his life was over. And he definitely wasn’t perfect.

Because to be fair, the old adage about women becoming mothers when they get pregnant, and men becoming fathers when they hold the baby for the first time, isn’t _untrue_. Zayn never understood the maternal connection Rachel had from the get-go, that innate sense that she was a parent, a mother bear protecting her cub every time she insisted she had to have her seat belt on before Zayn started the car. Zayn was always a step behind, awkwardly holding her hand in the doctor’s office, face in an almost constant grimace. He didn’t feel like a dad yet. He saw her puking during the first trimester and her swollen feet towards the end, and wondered how the hell she could think of herself as a mom, or of the experience _positively_. It sort of seemed fucking terrible. He remembers seeing a show where a guy and his wife kept telling people “they” were pregnant, which was fucking stupid, because Zayn wasn’t the one with a kid bouncing on his bladder like a trampoline. _They_ weren’t pregnant. That was all Rach, and it sucked balls. No thank you.

Zayn shakes his head as he stands there though, because that’s not true either. Even during the gross parts, he fucking loved when Rachel was pregnant. Especially in the later months when they’d be sitting watching TV and look down to see her stomach literally morphing into odd shapes as Ev swam around like she owned the place. He felt the kicks, he framed the final ultrasound for his desk at work, and spent weeks painting the nursery.

It wasn’t his own physical experience, but he wasn’t one of those guy who completely disconnected from the experience as a whole. He wasn’t Harry. Once he accepted that the test definitely read positive, when the stick turned blue, he was in. He was all fucking in.

And Harry, when offered the out, definitely didn’t refuse it.

Zayn shakes his head so hard at the thought, it feels like his brain is about to pop like a water balloon and seep out of his ears. He needs to shake some sense into Harry like his dad did for him. He’ll give Harry the speech about being a good dad. And if he has to be the Rachel of their little situation, by forcing Harry to grow some fucking balls, he’ll do it.

It’ll absolutely devastate him if Harry agrees to be a dad, and then decides to run off with a strange girl, but he’ll do it. He has to.

He hears her before he sees her. His eyes snap open when she laughs, as she runs towards him in her favorite pair of blue leggings and kitten sweater. Her hair is in a ponytail today, high on her head, curls flying.

“Hi babe,” Zayn says with a smile, as she jumps into his arms.

“Hiya daddy,” Ev squeals, as if she hadn’t just seen him the day before.

“Did you learn lots today?”

“Yep.”

“Like what?”

“Cows have four tummies.”

“That can’t be right.”

“It’s true,” Ev nods, rubbing at her eye. “Four of them.”

“Wow,” Zayn says. “They must eat a lot to need four tummies.”

“They eat grass!”

Zayn kisses her cheek, and then smiles wickedly, mind still on Harry.

“You should poke Harry sometime, and ask him if he has four tummies,” Zayn says conspiratorially, thinking of his various nipples, wrinkling his nose. “See what he says.”

Ev stops rubbing her eye and stares at her dad, nodding like she’ll have to remember to do just that. She then tugs at the hair growing on his chin, like she used to when she was a baby when he fed her a bottle in her rocking chair, and Zayn tries to bite at her fingers. She starts to giggle, but then pokes a finger right into Zayn’s cheek.

“Daddy, you stink.”

Zayn sighs and pushes them off the hood of the car. He moves towards the backseat, to strap Ev into her car seat. Maybe he shouldn’t have smoked after all.

“Sorry,” he winces.

But it’s soon forgotten because then they’re driving back to the apartment with the windows down since the weather is getting nicer by the day. Ev tells Zayn more about cows and other farm animals, and how she wants to be a farmer when she grows up.

Zayn very seriously tells her she can be whatever she wants to be, and that’s that.

 

***

 

The best thing about it being spring, aside from the sunshine and lack of ice on the roads, is definitely the fact that it doesn’t get dark as early. By the time Zayn gets Ev home, instead of going right into the apartment for homework so she won’t leave it for Rachel on Sunday night, he instead winks at her and grabs her hand. They head down the block to a little park he first eyed when he moved in, and had only taken her to a few times back in the fall before it got cold.

They walk hand in hand, as Ev tells Zayn more about her day. When she climbs up to the monkey bars, he holds her by the hips so she can swing across them. They sing “Sailing” and “Isn’t She Lovely” together because, as Zayn tells her, he used to hum those two songs the most to her when she was a baby. Then Zayn pushes her on a swing, makes sure to tell her to hold tight, and listens to her giggling over and over.

Half an hour later, Zayn tells her they should head back to the apartment. It’s only then that he notices her coat wasn’t buttoned, so he stops to get down on one knee to do them up. _Fuck_.

Then she asks to ride on his shoulders, which he sort of hates, because she peed on his back once as they watched a parade when she was two. It’s not a fond memory. But he does it anyway, because of course he does. Ev asked politely.

That’s what Harry must see, when they turn the corner into the courtyard. Zayn with Ev on his shoulders, her ponytail completely fallen out, happy and excited. He steps out of Zayn’s front door, shirtless with wet hair after a shower, and smiles.

“Harry!” Ev squeals, her little butt wiggling to get down.

Zayn scoffs a bit at the movement, and swings her down to the ground. She runs to Harry and leaps like she always does, for someone to catch her. Without missing a beat, Harry has her over his head, lifting her like she’s light as a feather.

“Toots!” he says with a smile, kissing her head. He smothers her with a hug, gives her raspberries on both cheeks, and takes her right into the apartment for Zayn to follow. He blows the hair up off his face and grabs for Ev’s weekend bag that she dropped in her excitement.

Zayn doesn’t really know what he expected once Harry and Ev were in the same room for the first time after Harry found out he was going to be a father. Maybe the weird energy he’s been carrying around since Cheyenne showed up would somehow translate to their little dynamic. Ev’s not his kid. She never was. He could’ve said hello and walked right by her. He didn’t have to be waiting for her in Zayn’s apartment at all.

But there he is, with Ev holding onto him with all four limbs like a spider monkey, as he reaches into the fridge for her snack.

“Where were you two? I was waiting,” Harry says like he’s mad at them.

“We went to the park!” Ev tells him, as he sets her on the counter like always. He starts cutting an apple for his classic apple sandwiches, as Ev watches with her chin propped in her hands.

“Oh, that sounds fun. Did you swing?” he asks her.

“Uh huh.”

“Did you go on the slide?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you get your daddy up on the monkey bars?”

“No!” Ev says like the question is ridiculous. “He’s too big!”

Harry actually turns around then, his wet hair stuck to his forehead a bit, to look at Zayn standing silently in the kitchen doorway. He smiles mischievously, like it’s any other day and he’s not about to bring a child into the world.

“Yeah, he is pretty big,” Harry winks at Zayn like an idiot.

Once he’s cut the apple, spread the peanut butter between the slices, and let Ev place the raisins just so, he hands her the finished product. Zayn steps into the kitchen right as Harry lets her down from the counter. She runs off to her room, promising not to touch anything with sticky fingers, and then they’re alone.

Zayn doesn’t know what to do. He feels out of sorts and very confused. He had planned on giving Harry the speech, yelling at him if he had to, forcing his hand to get a fucking grip. He expected Harry to still be a mess and for him to have to pick up the pieces. He didn’t expect this.

He must be frowning, because Harry crowds right into his space and pushes him against the counter with his sharp hipbones.

“Hi,” Harry purrs, his fingers suddenly under the hem of Zayn’s shirt. It’s an old shitty Stones shirt he’s had forever and it can’t even be considered black fabric anymore. It’s really more of a dull, over-washed gray now.

“Hi,” Zayn says in return, holding Harry by the hips so Harry can’t grind against him like he so wants to. Ev will run back into the room any minute now, asking about a slumber party.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Harry whispers into Zayn’s ear, his teeth at the lobe.

“Not now.”

“I know. Later.”

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says despite himself, as Harry moves his hand towards Zayn’s lower back, to sneak his fingers into his underwear. Zayn hisses at it. It’s not really the time for this, not when Harry had Cheyenne in his living room just that morning and didn’t feel her belly. _Why didn’t you want to feel?_

Zayn slams his eyes shut as Harry moves his hand even further south down the back of his briefs.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” Harry admits in a low voice, his vulnerability shining through even as he tries to keep the moment sensual and heated.

“Yeah?”

“Never. And I miss you all the time,” Harry says, moving closer still, kissing the tender spot below Zayn’s ear.

“I’m right here, babe,” Zayn says with a frown, his eyes still closed.

Harry ignores that last bit, and must remember he was trying to be sexy. So he uses a knee to knock Zayn’s thighs apart, to settle himself between them. It’s fucking reckless, Ev can’t see, but Zayn lets him. He’ll let Harry do anything.

“I wanna do something we’ve never done before,” Harry purrs again before licking a line up Zayn’s neck to his jaw. He places a few kisses there, down to his chin, and then up to his mouth.

“Like what?”

“You’ll see,” he finishes, finally pushing away from Zayn to clean up the cutting board and knife to their left.

Zayn blinks a few times, sure that his face is bright red. He pushes a palm to his dick, the line of his jeans digging into it painfully. He shakes his head and on the way to the bathroom, he smacks Harry’s ass to hear him yelp.

He ends up washing his face with cold water, to snap out of it. He leans over the sink, lets his head hang there as the water runs loudly near his ear and tries to relax. Harry had acted like old times, when it was the three of them having fun and being a little unit. It didn’t feel bad like it had that morning when Harry poured Cheyenne’s tea down the drain.

Maybe if Harry can forget about Cheyenne for a while, then so can Zayn. If this is how Harry needs to play it, for now, then Zayn will let him.

He’ll let Harry do anything.

 

***

 

A few hours after Zayn puts Ev to bed, Harry drags his desk chair from the living room into Zayn’s bedroom. With firm, set eyes, Harry tells Zayn to get naked and then shoves him down onto the seat.

He bats his eyelashes at Zayn as he undoes his jeans.

“Can I tie you up, muffin?” he asks like a dumb ass. But goddamn it, he’s still sexy even when he shouldn’t be.

Zayn nods and bites his lip.

Harry uses a few of his own ties because Zayn doesn’t have any and makes sure Zayn is tied to the armrests by the wrists. He can’t move his hands and can barely shift his arms. But before he can question it or ask Harry if he’ll be stuck like this for long, Harry’s already on his knees sucking him off.

True to his word, it’s definitely something they’ve never done before. It’s something Zayn’s never done before period. He watches with wide eyes as Harry completely envelopes him, his arms draped over Zayn’s back, his cock rubbing alongside Zayn’s until they’re both wet with it. Harry whispers into his ear that if he wants to stop, just say the word. But Zayn doesn’t. He shakes his head and fists his hands every time he gets close to coming.

After the initial tease that seems to last for hours, Harry faces away to use him as a chair. He smirks every so often over his shoulder, as he fucks himself down onto Zayn’s lap. He uses his hands to hold himself open, so Zayn can look down at where they meet and see Harry’s wet, used rim. Harry spits obscene things, says he’s about to rip apart, that he’s going to make Zayn fuck him for hours.

Zayn takes it, he whispers _yes_ and _yeah_ here and there. He lets Harry have it. He gives Harry everything he needs, to be there, to keep quiet, to be the dominated one. He only asks one thing of Harry: to lean back against him fully, so that when he comes, he can bite the muscle of Harry’s arm to muffle the sound.

And because Harry always gives Zayn what he needs in return, he does. He feels the tense up when Zayn gets close to the edge, and shifts so his tattooed upper arm is against Zayn’s mouth. Zayn comes with a small cry, his teeth digging into Harry’s flesh until it’s red and flushed.

Harry lifts himself off Zayn’s lap and stumbles a bit. He turns around, steps on either side of Zayn there on the narrow seat, and grabs Zayn by the hair. He fists himself and comes all over Zayn’s sweaty chest.

They kiss lazily afterwards, as Harry sits on his thighs and faces him. He undoes the ties and whispers how good it was. He asks if it was good, if it was okay, if Zayn had fun, and Zayn nods.

He kisses Harry’s eyelids where they’ve gotten wet and tells him, very honestly, he’s never had as much fun with anyone else.

“Never,” Zayn makes sure to whisper, staring at Harry.

Harry smiles.

 

***

 

The explosion finally happens the next night. It was bound to happen, just as Zayn knew it would eventually. It was like Zayn’s little apartment was full of gunpowder, just waiting for one little spark.

Zayn all at once isn’t expecting it, and yet has been waiting around for it ever since Cheyenne turned around and stared at Harry through his window, her stomach bulging.

Their Saturday is just about perfect. Harry and Ev actually let Zayn sleep in, and don’t wake him until a little after nine when they come into his bedroom whispering up a storm. Zayn cracks an eye open and groans, his entire body sore from his and Harry’s “adult activities” the night before. He props himself up on his elbows, thankful that he remembered to throw on boxers before he passed out, to see Harry and Ev tiptoeing towards the bed in their jammies.

Harry has a tray in his hands, with a plate of pancakes and eggs, a little milk glass full of syrup, a glass of juice, and a steaming cup of coffee.

“You’re awake,” Harry smiles at him widely, right as Ev also notices.

“Daddy, look!” she squeals, almost knocking the tray from Harry’s hands with a rogue foot as she climbs up on the bed. Her pajamas are filthy, with syrup all down the front of them, which Zayn tuts at Harry for. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Is this all for me?” he says a moment later, sitting up fully.

“We made you breakfast,” Harry nods, setting the tray over his lap. Since when does Zayn have a serving tray? It must be from Harry’s kitchen.

It’s almost delicious, except for when Zayn moves from the eggs to the stack of pancakes. Ev wants to help so she pours the syrup out for him, with Harry’s assistance as he holds her wrist steady. She watches Zayn’s every move as he eats, so when he takes a bite of the fluffy pancakes and hears a distinct _crunch_ , he stops mid chew and looks at Harry with wide eyes.

“Evelyn mixed the batter,” Harry says with wide eyes of his own that say _don’t you dare hurt her feelings_. “Aren’t you so proud of her, daddy?”

Zayn chews the bite as quickly as he can, hoping that he doesn’t puke up eggshells later. He nods and rubs his stomach, like he’s nothing but grateful and happy. He reaches for Ev and kisses her face.

“Thank you for my breakfast, baby,” Zayn says, pretending to be full. “You are very kind. Think you should be a chef.”

“I know!” Ev yells.

And then she’s off, yelling about making a cake in the little plastic oven in her bedroom. Harry reaches for the tray to dispose of it in the kitchen, but at the last second leans over it and kisses Zayn sweetly on the mouth.

“You are a good man, Zayn Malik,” Harry says against his lips. “In case I haven’t said so lately.”

Zayn gives him a small smile.

“I’ll help her get dressed,” Harry finishes, moving away from him.

And then he too is off, leaving Zayn alone in his bedroom once more. He picks a piece of eggshell out of his back molar and winces. He wishes he could say the wince was from the sensation alone, but really it’s so much more than that.

Zayn looks around at his messy room, at the mixture of clothes on the floor that are both his and Harry’s. He remembers Harry’s shoes next to the front door, Ev’s drawing on the fridge that features Harry and his wild hair, and the fact that Harry knew without a doubt to spare Ev’s feelings when it came to the breakfast she made him. All the little pieces, the fragments of his life, the home he’s built from the ground up. Harry is everywhere.

It hits Zayn then, that Harry isn’t his boyfriend. They’re not in love, or engaged, or getting married. Harry has a fucking kid on the way, and he’s still here in Zayn’s apartment playing house like it doesn’t matter.

Zayn feels his heart rate speeding up, at the inevitable conversation they need to finally fucking have. He jumps out of bed so he can go shower and wash the feeling away until he has to drop Ev off at Rachel’s the next morning before a Perrault family brunch. He won’t get her for the full Sunday, which he normally would hate, and is now grateful that he had her Friday night instead. The thought nags him all day, _what am I doing, what have I done, fuck my life, I have to talk to him, it’s time._

He also comes to terms with a simple conclusion. If Harry is going to break up with him eventually, Zayn might as well force him to do it sooner rather than later. It might as well be now. Tomorrow it is, Zayn thinks as Harry rubs his shoulders as they watch a movie after dinner. Ev is in Zayn’s lap, otherwise he’d turn around and tell Harry to stop touching him. His head hurts as he thinks it.

_You’re having a baby, and even though you don’t know it yet, you will always choose your own kid over me and mine. You have to see that eventually._

But Zayn doesn’t get the chance to talk it out the next day, because the explosion hits before he can.

It happens in the middle of the night, when they both jolt awake to the sound of Ev crying from her room. Long, wailing sobs. Zayn’s heart almost beats clean out of his chest, as he brings a hand to his forehead, dizzy at the suddenness of being conscious. Before he can assess the damage, Harry is already up and out of bed.

Zayn stumbles after him, his feet unsteady, and gets to Evelyn’s room a few steps behind. As always.

By the time he brings a steadying hand to her door frame, Harry’s already sitting on her bed. She’s in his lap facing him, with her entire body wrapped around his torso like a spider monkey, sobbing.

“I… I tried to kick them off,” Ev cries. “It chased m-me, and I wanted to run, but I couldn’t kick my shoes off.”

“Oh toots,” Harry frowns like he’s about to cry right alongside her. “It’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”

Zayn starts to step into the room, to comfort her and rub her back. He’ll let her know he’s there too. But before he can, Harry kisses her forehead right as Ev leans back from where she’s buried her face in his chest. She looks up into Harry’s eyes. She sniffs and her bottom lip trembles, right as Harry pouts at her and swipes his huge thumbs across her delicate cheeks.

Before Zayn can assist or comfort his little girl, Ev blinks like she’s still half asleep and says it.

“Daddy, can I go sleep with you and daddy in your room? Please?” she whimpers, her little voice so wrecked and miserable it makes Zayn physically ache in his stomach.

Harry stares at Evelyn’s face. It’s like he loses all motor function. The blood seeps from his cheeks so fast, he looks like he’s about to pass out. All he can do is nod, his eyes wide. He goes to stand up and holds Ev close, before turning towards the door. He finally notices Zayn standing there and without a word, hands Ev off to him.

Even with Ev between them, and without the two of them touching in the slightest, Zayn can feel Harry shaking.

Zayn holds Ev close and walks down the hall to his bedroom. He whispers everything he can think of to make her feel better. _You’re safe, baby. I got you. No more monsters tonight. It’s okay now. Let’s try to close our eyes._ Then they lay together, the two Maliks side by side under the blankets, as Zayn hums a song. Ev shuffles closer so Zayn can scratch her back a bit, to kiss her hair, to lull her back into sleep. Harry doesn’t come in the room. For Zayn, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Zayn waits until he’s sure Ev is asleep once more, sucking her thumb without a care in the world, and then he’s shifting away so he can ease out of the bed. He makes it to the door and then turns to check. She’s still asleep, still perfect, his tiny human in the center of his huge mattress.

Harry explodes as Zayn steps into the living room.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he hisses, his hands in his hair. He’s pacing like a mad man, back and forth in his plaid pajama pants and favorite black t-shirt.

Zayn leans against the door frame that connects the living room to the kitchen and crosses his arms. He waits.

“Did you hear that?” Harry hisses again to Zayn, his eyes wide and wild.

“Yeah, I heard,” Zayn mumbles.

“She said daddy. She called me daddy.”

“I heard.”

“What the _fuck?”_

Harry wipes at his face, hot tears springing up before he can stop them. He’s about to have a nervous breakdown. Zayn knows this feeling well.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Harry practically cries out towards the ceiling. “I… I have a kid coming. I’m… In June, a baby, and it’s mine.”

Zayn nods, still staring at the hardwood floor.

“I wear condoms. I don’t fuck girls when they say it’s cool to pull out, or that they’re on the pill. We used _condoms_. Right? I… I thought we used one every time. And then whatever, we went our separate ways and that was supposed to be it!”

Zayn nods.

“But _fuck me,_ she shows up and looks fucking huge. She wasn’t a little pregnant, Zayn. She was fucking _pregnant_. It was moving!”

“They tend to move around, yeah,” Zayn sighs, adjusting his arms across his chest. If Harry’s voice gets any more shrill, or even an octave louder, he’ll either have to move this outside or until tomorrow so Ev doesn’t wake up. _Don’t call your baby an ‘it.’_

“Zayn?” he asks, as if Zayn could be paying attention to anything other than Harry.

So Zayn looks up and uses his eyes to say he’s still engaged and listening. He raises his eyebrows and lets Harry pace as he continues to pull at his hair. He needs to let it all out.

“How the fuck did this happen? I never wanted a _kid_. I never wanted to be a _dad_. This isn’t… this isn’t my life. I don’t stay in bedrooms that aren’t mine, I don’t grocery shop with anyone, or pick out trees, or chaperone field trips. I’m – her school has me on file! I wasn’t going to – it’s not – I mean, who am I? And now _another_ kid? _Two?!_ I... what do I do?” Harry says lamely, turning to Zayn once more with pleading eyes.

Zayn doesn’t respond. _If you never wanted to be a dad, I never should’ve let you in here._

“Do I pretend I’m okay with it, and tell Cheyenne I’m there for her, when it’ll fucking kill me in the end? Do I visit her and go to fucking doctor appointments, because I should? Do I… am I _daddy_ now, Zayn? Is this what I’m supposed to do?” Harry rambles, his voice going higher still, pointing towards Ev’s room down the hall.

Zayn stares at the floor.

Harry turns to him and steps closer, no longer in a panic attack, but in an angry spiral. Zayn should’ve expected this, as well. He throws his hands up, waiting for Zayn to speak.

“Zayn, can you please fucking _help_ me? Say something, say _anything_ , and stop staring at me like I’m a fucking nuisance right now! Like I’m a fucking child who can’t control himself!”

It’s a surprise to Zayn, how he reacts when he looks up from the floor to stare at the man in his living room. The man walking the line he himself walked all those months ago in September. He holds a hand up so Harry will finally shut his mouth.

“No,” Zayn says through gritted teeth, practically hissing it to keep his voice level. “Don’t raise your voice in my house. Not when my kid is here trying to sleep. It’s the fucking rule and you know it: Ev doesn’t hear fighting or angry voices. Ever.”

Harry takes a breath, like he’s realized how far off the ledge he’s gone. He steps away from Zayn and pulls at his hair. He sits on the chair next to the window and buries his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m a mess. I’m sorry.”

Zayn should go touch him. He should say he’s okay, that it’s normal to freak out.

But he can’t.

Because it’s not normal to have been around Ev this long and just now realize she’s attached. It’s not normal to not call the future mother of your child once she’s told you, just like it’s not normal to not want to feel it kicking.

He should tell Harry to breathe. He should ease his mind and say they’ll work something out. They’ll work Harry up to it.

But instead, Zayn surprises himself again. He uncrosses his arms and stands there with a blank expression.

“Harry, am I your boyfriend?” he asks simply.

Harry’s head snaps up so they can see each other.

“What?”

“Are we together? I need to know.”

“Wh – are you serious right now?” Harry scowls at him, his expression twisting up into a grimace.

“You have a kid on the way,” Zayn says with a sure nod, finally ready to lay it out there. “And I get that it’s confusing and scary. But my kid? She fucking loves you. And I know you have a lot to figure out, and I’m here for you. I _want_ to be here for you. Because I want you. I want us.”

Harry’s jaw drops. He looks like he wants to hold his hands up into a T, for a true Time Out, to stop them before they say anything else.

But Zayn can’t stop now that he’s started. Because he’s finally doing what Rachel always said to do: he’s trying harder to really and truly put Ev’s wellbeing before his own happiness. If Harry is going to freak out about being a dad, and whether or not he’s going to step up and actually _be a dad,_ he needs to know that it also applies to Evelyn Malik.

Zayn blinks.

“You're about to be a father. You need to face the reality of your situation. You’re gonna have your own Number One soon. But I refuse to let _my_ kid be let down. I gotta look out for _my_ Number One. Because I think you forget that Ev doesn’t cease to exist when she’s not here in this apartment. She’s a person, with real feelings, who exists out in the world, who loves you _all_ the time. You can’t love her every other weekend and certain holidays. If you can’t handle her loving you this much,” Zayn says, pointing to what happened in her bedroom, “you need to tell me now. If you’re going to leave, then go. Don’t drag it out anymore than you already have.”

Harry blinks. Once, twice, and then about forty times in a row. Like he’s realized where he is and what he’s said. Suddenly he’s out of the chair and bounding towards Zayn, to hold him in a fierce hug. Harry holds on so tight, Zayn has no choice but to bring his hands up and hold him in return.

“I love Ev,” Harry says, his voice wet. “I fucking love her, I swear. I’m with you, I’m here, I’m a fucking mess. But I won’t be a mess in front of her, or around her. I’ll… I’ll get my shit together.”

_But what about Cheyenne? What about your baby? Are you going to stay for all of us? If this isn’t the life you thought you’d have, can you promise to get your shit together soon?_

But Zayn shuts those thoughts out.

“Good,” Zayn whispers, sending a silent prayer towards the sky.

_He’s not leaving. He’s still here. Please don’t let him change his mind._

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers as he buries his face in Zayn’s neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They don’t move from that spot in the living room for a very long time. And even when they do, it’s not back to Zayn’s bed where Ev sleeps. It’s to the couch so they can sit side by side in the dark with their hands intertwined. It’s a lot like what Zayn told Harry all those months ago on New Year’s Eve.

_Come sit by me and we’ll figure it out._

 

***

 

So they’re a thing.

Zayn tells Rachel over the phone a week later, when they discuss the costume logistics of Ev’s upcoming school play, that the thing with Harry is official. Rachel not so delicately tells Zayn that it took him long enough. “Now don’t you feel better knowing for sure?” she asks, sounding a lot like Zayn’s mother instead of his ex-wife.

He doesn’t tell her that no, he does not feel any better about the situation. Because it still feels like they’re constantly walking around his apartment on quicksand: if you move through it fast enough you won’t sink, but if you stand still, you’re a goner.

Harry calls his mom a few days after that. Zayn sits at his desk trying to ghost-write for an advice columnist who called out sick from The Breakneck, as Harry tells her about Cheyenne. He keeps voice calm, and Zayn pretends not to listen, but he distinctly hears Anne crying happy tears.

“I still… I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” he whispers, trying to turn towards the far kitchen wall.

But Zayn hears it.

“Yeah he’s still here,” Harry says quietly, probably meaning Zayn.

“Mom…” Harry tries. But then she must start yelling at him, or giving him a stern talking to, and the call ends rather quickly after that. Harry doesn’t even set his phone down though, and instead makes another call to his producing partner at the studio. They have space booked for the following week and he needs to be ready for it. He works well into the night, and even though they only sit a few feet apart at the table and desk, they don’t say much.

Zayn tries not to judge Harry, the closer they get to May and then eventually Cheyenne’s due date. But it’s getting progressively harder. She’s probably at thirty-two weeks now. Harry’s baby is about the size of a jicama. It can hear music and actually move to a beat. It’s moving its hands now, flexing its fingers like it’s giving the ultrasound technician a tiny wave.

If Harry sat with Cheyenne and held her stomach for a while, he’d feel the movement. He could play his guitar and sing the baby a song. But he hasn’t called her. He hasn’t tried.

Whenever Ev is at the apartment, she talks about going to the beach once school is out. Harry helps her with the loop-swoop-and-pull on her shoelaces, which she still hasn’t mastered. And all she does is ask Harry over and over about building sand castles and what crabbing is really like. She doesn’t call him daddy again, as it was mostly just a half-asleep fluke after a bad dream. But Zayn watches Harry sometimes, and sees the way his eyes drift out of focus when Ev isn’t actively vying for his attention. He’ll watch movies with her and take her to the park, but he doesn’t indulge in her silliness as much. He starts acting more like Zayn: a little removed, more of an observer. He always holds her hand and kisses her cheeks, though. That never changes or falters.

He takes care of the apartment as much as ever, intent on being there and being with Zayn. One day he comes home from the studio with a rose, some stupid thing he probably picked up from the throw away pile at the super market flower counter. He hands it to Zayn and kisses his mouth as he says, “hi boyfriend, I missed you,” and Zayn’s pretty sure it’s the only flower he’s ever received in his life.

Sometimes at night, after they’ve blown each other and Harry has wiped off his jizz from all over Zayn’s face, they curl up to fall asleep. Zayn will tentatively ask if Harry is all right, if he wants to talk, if there’s anything on his mind.

Harry continually shakes his head and says, very resolutely, that is he fine. “I’m fine, babe.” That’s his go-to now. Zayn can’t believe that it’s still fucking April, so sure that the minutes and days are crawling at a snail’s pace. Suddenly with a pregnancy looming over his head again, Zayn feels like time won’t ever speed up.

Cheyenne will be pregnant for the rest of eternity.

But Harry must not notice the non-changing times, because he doesn’t comment on it. He says he’s fine. Time is time is time. Zayn absolutely fucking hates it. He’s found himself smoking a few hidden cigarettes here and there when he takes the trash out to the dumpster near his car. If Harry smells the smoke, he never mentions it.

 

***

 

** May **

 

April is finally behind them. And okay fine, so Zayn smokes more than just a few hidden cigarettes. Ev makes another comment about his smelly shirt and his cheeks flare red.

It’s just that he’s on edge almost constantly now. Harry has gotten worse. He’s still ignoring the twelve elephants that insist on crowding into the apartment with them. He’s acting fucking weird, and it’s making Zayn smoke and drink too much on his non-Ev nights when they go to clubs in D.C.

Harry starts to suck him off in a bar bathroom one night, and insists that they won’t get caught. But then a bouncer busts the main door in and says through the stall that they have five minutes to get the fuck out of there, or he’s calling the police. Zayn, furious that he could’ve been arrested for public indecency, says that as men nearing thirty, they need to stop acting like children. He explodes that he can’t believe he’s starting to sound like Rachel, and doesn’t speak to Harry for the rest of the night.

Zayn can’t figure out what to do, or how to navigate his own fucking life. He feels like they’re at an impasse: they’re in love, he knows it, he recognizes it. But they’re still not saying it. Harry clings to Ev so fiercely whenever she’s around, and yet Zayn can read his face as plain as day: he thinks he’s a shitty person and shouldn’t be around Ev period. Harry hasn’t claimed his own unborn child yet, and he knows Zayn can’t understand why.

They’re living together, but not quite. Harry still prefers his own shower and always makes sure to open his mail in his own living room.

They fuck just as often, and just as passionately as ever. But Harry stops offering to buy puzzles and he hardly ever ventures into his game closet for the boxes of Yahtzee or Chinese Checkers. Ev mentions crabbing, yet again, but Harry doesn’t make his usual promise about taking her out on a boat.

Ev doesn’t notice, but Zayn does.

Zayn feels himself reaching for a cigarette as he drives Ev back to Rachel’s house one Thursday evening, almost like he’s forgotten she’s in the car and he can simply blow the smoke out the window. It’s the second time in his short, pathetic life that Zayn has forgotten about his child in the car, and he feels the bile rise in his throat.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing, Zayn,” he hisses to himself, throwing the pack onto the passenger seat floor.

“What did you say?” Ev asks innocently from the backseat.

Zayn looks up into the rearview mirror, to see her smiling at him from her car seat.

“Nothing,” he tries to smile. “You should sing me a song.”

So she does. She sings her Harry song, same melody as ever, and Zayn grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t let go until she finishes with the line “ _just a’little… old… meee”_ _and he has to clap for her._

_Like his dad told him years ago. Like Zayn and Rachel always do together, whenever Ev sings them a song or dazzles them in some way._

And then he realizes what he needs to do, since he still hasn’t done it yet.

He pulls into Rachel’s driveway and throws the car into Park, before getting Ev and her things out as fast as he can. He’s knocking on his old front door, slightly out of breath, which is depressing. He should probably start working out.

A minute later and then Rachel’s in front of him, with her hair a little lighter and shorter than it’s been in years. It looks good. Pretty.

“Hey you,” she says delightedly to Evie, grabbing her to lift her up, “did you have fun with daddy?”

“Yes!” Ev yells. “We did nails. Harry said he liked the pink sparkles. I did it so good.”

“She did,” Zayn agrees, his face blank. He holds up his left hand, the sloppy purple not only on his nails, but all over the skin of his cuticles.

Rachel smiles with a shrug as she reaches for the door handle, probably expecting Zayn to do his normal polite wave as he excuses himself. But he does the thing with his eyes, the look that says everything. She blinks and stares back at him.

_Can we talk?_

_What’s wrong?_

_It’s not about Ev._

_Zayn._

_I promise. It’s about me. I need to talk._

Rachel blinks again. And then she slaps on a smile and looks at Ev still in her arms.

“How about you go change into your Ariel nightgown,” she says, widening her eyes like it’s the most exciting thing Evie will ever do. “Dinner is almost ready. And then we’ll do face masks tonight before bed.”

“I get the one that smells like mud!” Ev cries, squirming down from Rachel’s arms to go tearing up the stairs to her bedroom.

Zayn watches her go. Even as Rachel settles herself down onto the couch with concerned eyes, he won’t look at her. He paces around her, stepping around toys and high heels. The house, without a male influence, has feminine touches all over it now. He hopes he doesn’t step on any expensive clothing.

“Zayn, talk to me,” she says evenly.

“Harry got a girl pregnant,” he says, hands on his hips, still looking away. “A girl he knew last summer. She’s due next month.”

Rachel exhales a breath and rubs at her temples with manicured fingertips.

“Oh Harry…” she says more to herself, shaking her head.

“’Oh Harry’ is fucking right,” he scoffs. “I still ask myself how he could be so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it happened to us,” Rachel says with an amused smile. “We shouldn’t throw stones. Glass houses and all that.”

Zayn looks at her, annoyed.

“So what is he going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“That’s what I mean. He’s doing _nothing_. He’s… Cheyenne is nice. I was there when she told him and laid it all out. She said he could be involved if he wanted to be. But if he didn’t, no harm, no foul.”

Rachel looks at him, impressed.

“Right? She’s got balls. Tough as hell, I think,” Zayn admits.

“Good for her,” she nods.

“But he hasn’t called her since. They don’t talk. He’s not involved, he’s not trying, he’s just sitting around like it’s nothing. He’s acting like it never even happened.”

Rachel frowns at that, not so impressed with Harry, and Zayn can see why. It’s not like Cheyenne presented Harry with a test that he’s somehow failed. She seemed genuine when she said he could ignore the pregnancy. But Harry’s too kind, too good, too fucking amazing to let his kid go. Zayn can’t understand it. Rachel must not understand it either, not fully.

But then Rachel grabs for Zayn’s wrist so he’ll finally sit down, getting anxious from being so close to Zayn’s anxious energy. He goes easily and ends up with his thigh up against hers, so close he can smell her perfume.

“He’s probably really scared,” Rachel tells Zayn, her eyes still doing that concerned thing that worries him. “I don’t like this, Zayn. I really don’t. He’s… Shit. His dad left when he was a kid. Over and over.”

Zayn frowns at her.

“Did I tell you that?”

“No. He told me himself.”

“What? When?”

Rachel stares at him like the idiot he is and rolls her eyes.

“Because we’ve talked. Which you were very much aware of.”

“Yeah, but…” Zayn screws up his face and faces her more head on. “I thought you only talked about Ev. And told him not to fuck up with her around.”

Rachel actually leans closer to flick at Zayn’s forehead, thumping him pretty hard. Even when they get along, it doesn’t change the fact that, at the end of the day, Rachel thinks her ex-husband is a fucking dumb ass who brought Ev into an apartment without any furniture for weeks at a time.

She rolls her eyes yet again, as he angrily rubs his forehead.

“When it comes to Ev, you have to look at everything, Zayn. Just because a situation seems good for her, or fine, or happy, doesn’t mean it actually _is_. Not long term, anyways. You started dating him and I needed to make sure I knew who he was. So we talked a few times. I didn’t want to talk to him just to say ‘don’t curse around her and be a good chaperone on her field trip.’ I told him to get a grip. I told him to understand the severity of being around a child, to take the responsibility seriously.”

Zayn remembers how Harry acted in the grocery store, after he got off the phone with Rach. How she more or less forced him to go to the school, to declare himself as Zayn’s boyfriend and quasi-guardian to Ev if she ever needed him. Rachel forced his hand and he accepted.

Which is exactly what Zayn needs to do now, after all this time of letting Harry figure it out on his own.

“Right,” he turns to her again, his face serious. “You always force me to do shit I don’t necessarily want to do, and in the end, it works out.”

Rachel nods like she knows it’s true.

“So can I have Ev’s old rocking chair? The one from the nursery?”

She stares at him, unsure.

“He needs the push.”

“Zayn, that’s…”

“I can push,” he assures her. “If he thinks he can ignore the fact that he has a baby due in under two months, I’ll just have to remind him.”

“Yeah, you _can_ push,” she nods like he’s stupid. “I’m well aware. You can push pretty hard. And you might just push him out the fucking door.”

Zayn frowns.

“We’ve talked,” Rachel warns him. “His dad left when he was so young, Zayn. He was in and out of his life for years, showing up with presents one day, and then a ghost the next. Then he had two step-dads do the exact same thing. Constantly. That messes with a person.”

Zayn nods. He sort of wants to go call his dad and say thank you.

“I think Harry is a good guy. But I’m also a realist, and a mom who doesn’t want her girl sad and upset when her daddy’s boyfriend decides to leave once and for all. So just make sure you know what you’re doing, because I think we both know if it gets too heavy, he’ll leave. And if Ev gets hurts, I swear....”

“I know,” Zayn nods, looking down at his hands. He doesn’t have the heart to say _I sometimes think he has one foot out the door already, but I don’t know how to stop it._

“We have to think of Ev. And if Harry is really the type of man to leave a pregnant girl on her own, to never be around his kid, is that really who you can see yourself with long term? What makes you think he won’t leave you when it gets hard?”

“I know,” Zayn repeats himself. He _hates_ when Rachel makes sense.

“You can have the rocking chair. Because I think you love him and I think it could work. Maybe. Just so long as you realize that loving him may mean accepting this new kid into your life, too.”

Zayn sighs. There’s so much to fucking think about and consider.

And oh yeah, love.

_Love._

_Fuck._

“But you saw how he pulls away and makes rash decisions,” she continues. “He practically told me that it’s his go-to move. You’ve already let it get this far, and you didn’t even try to stop it.”

Zayn nods. He knew exactly what he was walking into, when he asked with his eyes if he and Rachel could talk. You don’t go to Rachel to have your hand held and a shoulder to cry on. Rachel is a lawyer, a conscience, Zayn’s partner for the next thirteen years, married or not. They’re in it together, making Ev’s life happy and safe. And he knows he needs a kick in the ass before he goes off to finally kick Harry’s.

He looks up at her.

Just then, Ev comes bounding down the stairs in her little nightgown with Ariel on the front. She twirls it a bit and shows off how she tried to put her hair up in a ridiculous bun, like the ones Rachel puts in her own hair when she does random skin care type shit Zayn can never remember the names of.

They dote over her for a few more minutes, until she starts babbling about her toys there on the floor. She starts to play with some of her dolls, as Zayn and Rachel sit in silence to watch.

Eventually, Zayn looks to her again. Rachel blinks as a warning.

_If she gets hurt, I swear to God, Zayn._

_I know._

_I warned you about this months ago._

_I know._

Zayn nods a final time and turns to watch Ev play on the floor. She has four dolls sitting side by side, looking at her, and she whispers to them about how she’s their mommy who is a doctor _and_ a chef _and_ a singer.

“The rocking chair is in the garage,” Rachel sighs, still unconvinced. “I sure hope you’re ready to give him Daddy 101, if he decides to do it. It’s gonna be a rough one for you, to do those first few months all over again.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at her, ignoring the last part.

“Thanks for the chair.”

“Of course.”

Ev stands up to go run back up to her room, yelling about needing her doctor’s kit for her dolls’ shots. Zayn lays his head back on the couch, suddenly exhausted. She must be making a roast. It smells heavenly. He sort of wishes he could eat at the table with Ev, and then sleep there on the couch like old times, when Rach would kick him out of their bed.

But he needs to go home to Harry.

Rachel shifts a bit, her foot pressing into his thigh. She doesn’t outright say that it’s time for him to leave, but she doesn’t really have to.

“You really talked to him a lot?”

She sighs, giving him a few more seconds of peace and quiet.

“A bit.”

He nods.

“I figure it like this: when you and I are happy, Ev’s happy,” she pats at his head, smoothing the hair away from his forehead. “So I need you to be happy.”

Zayn blinks towards the ceiling and crosses his hands over his stomach. He says the one thing he knows Rachel always appreciates hearing.

“I’m trying.”

 

***

 

The noise is, admittedly, quite startling. Harry must have a fucking heart attack from Zayn’s bedroom. Because when Zayn practically busts the door down to move the rocking chair into the living room, Harry comes running down the hall with his boxers only just pulled up over his dick, and his phone in his hand.

Zayn huffs and puffs to heave it over the threshold, the monstrous wooden chair obstructing his view slightly. He kicks a foot behind himself, to shut the door and keep out the cool, spring night.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, reaching for the chair to help Zayn set it down.

Zayn doesn’t answer, and works on making sure the cushion is on it right. It’s blue with little white flowers, something girly and expensive. It was a gift from Rachel’s aunt and uncle. He moves the chair closer to the front window, away from the couch and TV, but close to the center of the room. If they turned off all the lights and let the moonlight filter in through the main window, it would be perfectly silhouetted. That was sort of Zayn’s goal, to make it the new focal point of the room for the time being.

You can’t ignore that which is staring you in the face every day, now can you.

“Surprise,” Zayn says, still catching his breath, his hands on his hips.

“Zayn…” Harry responds quietly, shaking his head. He looks down at the rocking chair and frowns.

“Nope, not this time, babe,” Zayn cuts him off. “You still have a few weeks to go until the baby is born, but it’s happening. No more ignoring it or pretending like you’re fine. This is me, kicking your ass to get a grip. This is the speech.”

Harry blinks at him.

“My dad gave me the speech the day Ev was born, instead of before, because I had more time to come to terms with it. But you need it now. You get the Early Bird Special.

“Zayn,” Harry says, holding his phone up slightly.

But Zayn won’t let him speak. He holds up a hand and takes a breath.

"No one prepares you for it. There aren't any manuals. Sometimes being a good parent means simply keeping your kid alive. Keep them breathing, make sure they're safe, love them until you could burst with it,” Zayn says with a nod.

Harry blinks and bites his lip. Nervous. Scared.

“On days when everything feels especially hard, just remember that your kid is Number One. Everything else becomes secondary. Less than. Minuscule by default. Eventually your kid will paint you a picture, or sing you a song, and it might not be great… but always be sure to clap. If you're proud, make sure to say so."

Zayn finally moves closer to Harry, to hold him by the hips. He looks into Harry’s eyes and tries to smile to reassure him. It’s scary as fuck, for both of them. If they’re really together, and in it, it’ll be a huge adjustment. _But I’m here._

Harry blinks.

“And it’s that easy, then. That’s all there is to it,” Harry says quietly, like it’s a question and a statement all at once.

Zayn winces slightly, but still smiles through it.

“I mean, it’s not _that_ easy… but just about. Everything else comes with time. You helped me, remember? Not just with Ev, but with this place, and when I was figuring myself out, and… you were there the whole time. I’m here, babe. I’ll help you along the way. If you’re scared or think you’re going to have to do this alone, this is me telling you that you won’t. You have Cheyenne. And me.”

Harry nods with a small, unsure smile.

“You’re a good dad,” Harry says, reaching a hand up to cup Zayn’s cheek. He stares into his eyes. “The best.”

Zayn leans forward to kiss Harry. Harry goes with it, leans into Zayn just as much, and it’s like their first kiss all over again. There isn’t a Christmas tree to their right this time, but a rocking chair instead. Lips and tongue, wet heat, Harry’s hands on Zayn’s face and neck.

They’re a thing, they’re together, and if in the end they have a new baby to deal with, they will. Zayn will show Harry how to hold the bottle, how to rock in the chair the right way, and how to put so much love out into the world, he’ll burst with it.

The rest will figure itself out.

 

***

 

As luck would have it, the next Ev weekend they have, she’s sick as a dog. Rachel warned Zayn, when she dropped Ev off on Saturday morning that Ev had been sniffling the night before. Her school play to wrap up the year is in a few days, and she needs to be well rested so she doesn’t miss it. Of course, Ev ran off to her room right as Harry came around the corner, drying his hands on a dishtowel so he could stand behind Zayn and listen to Rachel’s medicine instructions.

She glanced to the rocking chair near the window, but didn’t comment on it. She handed over some cherry cough syrup, throat lozenges if Ev really needed them, and some nasal spray that Ev absolutely hated. Zayn prayed that he wouldn’t need any of it and that Rachel was just being dramatic. But hours later, he sits at the table scrolling through his phone when Ev comes crawling into his lap.

She doesn’t even say anything, just curls up and tucks her head under his chin. He frowns down at her and smooths her hair away from her forehead. He coos to her, asks if she wants to watch movies and snuggle, and she nods.

Harry, who had been at the studio for a bit, finally gets home and walks into the room to see them pouting together. Fast as anything, he falls to his knees at Zayn’s feet and puts his hands on Ev’s tiny thighs.

“You sick, toots?” he asks her, frowning.

“Yeah,” she whines.

“You want me to call the Wambulance for ya?” he pouts to match her, reaching up to feel her forehead.

She smiles at that, a little. But then she schools her face to look sad again, and grips Zayn’s thumb.

“No.”

“I don’t feel so good either,” Harry says with a shrug, like he’s about to convince her of something. Zayn narrows his eyes at him, sure that this won’t end in his favor, at the game they’ll inevitably start to play. Harry winks, and then gets closer to Ev to whisper, “Maybe daddy should take care of us.”

“Like he did after the movie theater,” Ev smiles wickedly, remembering.

Harry nods.

Zayn sighs dramatically, as Harry grabs Ev out of his arms and makes his way into the living room. Sure enough, they play the game where they snuggle up together and call out things for Zayn to bring them. Harry even downloads an app to his phone right then and there, of a bell they can ring whenever he’s not in the room.

As always, Zayn plays along. It’s a beautiful thing to watch Harry distract Evie, when she’s sick and grumpy. She giggles and holds Harry’s hand through most of the day. Zayn brings warm milk for Ev and hot tea for Harry. Fuzzy socks, extra blankets, cough syrup. Harry pretends he doesn’t want his, but then listens rapturously when Zayn says it doesn’t taste so bad, and that it helps tummies feel better. So Harry and Ev whisper a bit, until finally Ev swallows the gross red liquid out of the plastic cup.

When she gets drowsy enough to just sit silently and watch “Toy Story 2,” Zayn is able to settle on the couch with them. He sits on the end, so that Harry can lean against him, and Ev can lay tucked under Harry’s arm. Three peas in a pod, three ducks in a row, stuffed onto Zayn’s second-hand couch.

It feels like old times again, back when things were simpler and Harry was more willing to be playful. Back before they ever questioned themselves, or wondered what they were doing, when Zayn was reckless with who he let into Ev’s world. Back before a pregnant girl showed up and rocked their foundation, when all Zayn needed was Harry under one arm and Ev tucked close. Zayn is grateful Harry isn’t really sick, because he can’t stop touching him. He kisses his forehead, plays with the hair along his temple, makes sure to speak directly into Harry’s skin whenever asking a question that night.

Evelyn starts to get fussy, crying over her head hurting and her jammies sticking to her sweaty back. So Zayn shushes her and stands up, almost grateful for the demonstration. It’s one of the things Zayn knows how to do. For the first year of Ev’s life, when it came to taking care of her, Zayn of course wasn’t good at much.

But he could rock her all goddamn day if she needed it. He’d hold her for the hours here and there when Rachel would practically collapse from exhaustion. Ev wouldn’t remember it now, but all of their early one-sided conversation happened in this rocking chair, just the two of them.

He gives Harry a look that says to watch him, which thankfully Harry understands. He wrings his hands together and nods.

Zayn picks up Ev from the couch to hold her like a baby. She never lets anyone hold her like that anymore, with her head over one arm and her legs over the other. But she continues to sniffle and cry silently, her blanket bunched around her, and lets him this time.

Zayn settles in the rocking chair by the window, well past Ev’s bedtime. He sits how he used to sit: one foot under his ass, the other on the floor to push. After they get comfortable and settled, Ev finally closes her eyes and puts her thumb in her mouth. She rests her cheek against his chest. Zayn rocks her and starts to hum a slower, quieter version of “Sailing.” Zayn can’t help but smile down at her, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. It’s like a step back in time. This was their thing. Their place. Zayn shakes his head, remembers how she fit in his hands, and can’t believe she was ever that small. Harry watches from the end of the couch, his head propped up on his hand. He doesn’t say anything or join in on the song. Which is a shame, because Zayn loves Harry’s voice.

Soon after, they go to put Ev to bed together. Ev definitely isn’t fully awake, but she of course manages to ask for a story in mumbled sentences. Harry reads a fairy tale about a princess to her, in a soft, calming voice as Zayn rubs at his shoulder.

Zayn is struck with the thought that maybe someday, he’ll read a story to Harry’s baby. Their little unit of three could someday be four. It doesn’t scare Zayn anymore, to admit that he’s in a serious relationship, not with Harry, or a man, or anyone other than his ex-wife. He remembers deciding all those months ago, while playing in the snow in the middle of the night, that he likes Harry. He knew it, he recognized it, he accepted it.

And now he loves Harry. He knows it, feels it deep down where it counts, decides it’s the life he wants to lead. Harry’s slowly but surely coming around, Zayn can feel it.

He kisses Harry on the mouth, right as he shuts the book. Evelyn has already drifted off between them, her dreams probably full of princesses and princes, first kisses, and wedding dances.

Harry smiles against Zayn’s mouth as fairies dance around them on the ceiling.

 

***

 

On Tuesday, Zayn wakes up in his bed alone. It’s not unheard of, especially when Ev is around and Harry is already off playing with her. But Ev’s not with them on weekday mornings, so Zayn stretches a bit and wonders where Harry’s gone off to. They slept naked, and Zayn sort of hoped he’d be lulled into consciousness from the wet heat of Harry’s mouth around his prick.

They’d had a good night last night, though. Zayn wanted Harry to have some fun before it got really serious, since it hits the first of June soon and everything will suddenly go into overdrive.

So he’s been stepping up his game.

Zayn told Harry to wait for him in the kitchen with his eyes closed, facing the sink. Two minutes later, Zayn came ambling into the kitchen in his tightest jeans and a white tank top, carrying a wrench.

He cleared his throat so Harry would turn to look at him.

“Excuse me, sir,” Zayn say, his voice hard and rough. “Were you the one who called the plumber? Said something about a… leaking pipe?”

Harry’s eyes lit up so wide, he was so happy, he almost jumped up and down. He played along, hopped right into the storyline, and told Zayn to bend over the sink and take a look.

“I’m paying you good money,” Harry said, his expression wicked. “Better make sure you get the job done right.”

They then had sex on the kitchen floor and it was deliciously dirty. Zayn bounced on Harry’s dick until it physically hurt everywhere: his knees a wreck, his hands pulling at his own hair, his cock slapping against his stomach. Harry came inside him and swore, his voice cracking, that Zayn was too good for this godforsaken world.

But now, Zayn wakes up alone. Harry shouldn’t need to be at the studio for hours, and Zayn can’t hear him banging around in the kitchen.

They have so much to do. They need to buy books. Zayn needs to figure out if Rachel still has any other old furniture from Ev’s nursery. Harry will need to convert the second bedroom in his apartment. He needs a crib and a changing table, some curtains. Zayn could paint the baby’s name on the wall, if that’s what Harry wanted. They’ll just need to find out the sex and whatever Cheyenne has chosen, and then he can get to work.

Zayn pulls on a pair of sweatpants and wanders to the bathroom. No Harry. Not in the kitchen or living room either. His keys aren’t on the coffee table where he always leaves them, and his phone charger isn’t plugged in near Zayn’s desk.

Zayn scratches at his chin.

Just then, he sees the movement inside Harry’s apartment. He gets closer to the window, to peek through the blinds.

And then his heart practically beats out of his chest. Zayn smiles so fucking hard, he could cry.

Cheyenne and Harry. On Harry’s couch. Talking, drinking tea, their feet kicked up on the coffee table. Cheyenne laughs at something Harry says, her blonde hair just as wild as ever. She’s big now, her face round, her feet probably swollen. She’s probably to the point where she dreams of not being pregnant anymore. Rachel had started to waddle by the last month, her breathing labored from the pressure on her lungs. She peed every five minutes.

By Zayn’s count, Cheyenne’s now thirty six weeks. Harry’s baby is probably about the size of a head of romaine lettuce. Head down, ready to enter the world soon. Maybe a head of hair. Eyelashes and fingernails.

Zayn watches for a few more minutes, transfixed at this newer, better version of Harry. He looks at Cheyenne with reverence, respect, awe. He must recognize her strength. They continue to chat, and at one point Cheyenne lifts a foot and shoves it towards Harry to show him.

“Yeah, I bet they’re swollen as fuck,” Zayn can’t help but mutter to himself out loud.

Right as he smiles at the scene across the courtyard, Harry laughs at the size of Cheyenne’s foot.

Zayn should leave them to it. They have a lot to discuss. And if Harry didn’t tell Zayn she was coming over, it was for a reason. He deserves the privacy, the quiet space, the hours it could take to nail down all the details. As much as Zayn wants to be there for Harry, and be supportive, it’s important for Harry to set the foundation with his true teammate first.

But before he turns away, Zayn hears Cheyenne squeal a bit. She shakes her head and thrusts her tea towards Harry. She grabs for his other hand. And Zayn is happy to see that Harry Styles, at long last, rests a palm on Cheyenne’s belly. He looks at his own hand, surprised, his mouth slack, as she moves it around just so to find the sweet spot. She shifts Harry’s ringed fingers around her belly, pressing and pressing, until finally it must work.

Harry must gasp as he feels it. His head snaps up to look at Cheyenne and they smile together, as their baby feels Harry for the first time. Zayn remembers that feeling well, when Ev kicked him early on. Rachel said after weeks of only feeling a flutter, of wondering if it was just indigestion, it finally felt real. Like a real kick, or elbow, as the baby shifted around.

They chat for a few more seconds while Zayn watches, and Harry doesn’t move his hand.

Zayn releases the blinds from between his fingers and steps away from the window. He heads to the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth, so he can be fresh and ready for whenever Harry comes back to him.

 

***

 

Evelyn’s school play is on a Wednesday. It’s the one and only major event they have every year for kindergartners and their parents to enjoy, so Rachel makes sure to tell Zayn over and over not to be late and get Ev there on time. Harry grabbed the phone from Zayn one of the last times, after he had been pacing around for hours working. He must’ve sensed the fight, both Zayn and Rachel about to start a screaming match about schedules, being on time, and Zayn’s total ineptitude at writing things down on a calendar.

“It’s in my phone, I promise,” Harry told her, turning away from Zayn with a slight frown. “I’ll make sure we’re on time.”

And then as always, Harry refused to talk on the phone whenever Zayn was in the room. So he took it out into the courtyard and walked around a bit, chatting with Rachel about God only knows what.

Zayn rolled his eyes and stalked away, back to his desk to finish up a piece for his weekly deadline. Rachel can still be such a dick sometimes. And how dare Harry get along with her, honestly.

As one of the dancing daisies in the little “garden” play, Ev’s costume was one of the more intricate ones. Rachel tried to explain it to Zayn, how she was helping out before the show with a few of the other mothers, to sew the petals correctly. All Zayn had to do was make sure Ev’s hair was in a normal ponytail so the big daisy petals could go all the way around her head, and that she wear black tights and a black long-sleeved shirt.

Zayn was proud of himself for remembering it all, because he says as much to Harry as they get closer to the school that evening. Ev holds onto their hands and asks them over and over to swing her. So Harry counts to three a few times, and has her jump, right as they lift her up and swing her forward. She giggles all the way across the (probably) seven mile long parking lot.

Harry smiles down at her, and fixes his wide open shirt a bit with his other hand. Tits out as always. But Zayn thinks he looks pale. Exhausted. Bags under his eyes.

Zayn smooths at his own hair with his free hand and swings Ev again, as he looks to Harry on his left.

“You good?” he asks him, nervous.

Harry nods and stares at the brick school building ahead of them, then feeling around for his phone in his pocket. Expecting a call. Ever since Cheyenne came to the apartment to talk, ever since he felt his baby kick, he’ll do that: Zayn will catch him staring off into space, eyes seeing something he won’t reveal to Zayn, like he’s trying to do long division and can’t have any noise to disrupt him.

“I’m good,” Harry says.

“I’m good too!” Ev says loudly, tugging on their hands.

Just then, a group of other little girls run over towards them. They too are in black tights and shirts, with a few parents and guardians trailing behind them towards the school. Zayn hasn’t the faintest idea who any of these people are, but they recognize him. He’s Evelyn Malik’s dad, clearly, with the almond eyes and beautiful skin that match hers. Ev pulls them to walk faster, and calls out a few names to the girls.

Zayn shakes the hand of a few fathers, single men like himself he recognizes from when he’s picked Ev up from school. They all have that look to them, the one that says “my ex-wife told me not to be late, so here I am.”

Right over his shoulder, Harry still holds Ev’s hand. She starts jumping up and down, her pink Chucks slapping at the pavement, babbling with the little girls from her class.

“This is my daddy,” she says, pulling Zayn’s hand to pay more attention, “and this is my Harry. Let’s swing again!”

So they do, they swing her even higher so that she’s practically parallel with the ground. Zayn tells her not to squeal so much once they get inside the building that smells of crayons and pencils, and he looks up to Harry to wink at him. But Harry’s not looking at him. He’s frowning as his eyes travel over the walls full of drawings and childlike paintings.

School plays are never anything to write home about. Zayn and Harry make sure to take a million pictures of Ev on their phones in that small auditorium, as she stands in the center of the stage in her daisy costume and sings about springtime being so lovely. She’s a fucking natural, completely wild and free with it, and Zayn feels like every time he blinks, he misses a dance move. Rach and her parents watch from somewhere up front, since she saved their seats first thing.

The kids are adorable. A little boy falls over at one point, but jumps right back up and fixes the leaves sticking out of his hat. The audience _awwws_ and laughs, and he doesn’t seem to be too bothered. Ev even gives him a hug towards the end, when he stands next to her. Maybe he’s this Lucas they’ve heard so much about.

When they give the standing ovation a short twenty minutes later, Harry does that thing where he whistles through his fingers. Zayn’s cheeks flare red from embarrassment, as people turn to look at them and the loud obnoxious noise from Harry. Weirdness from earlier aside, Harry doesn’t care. He smiles and waves to Evelyn, who jumps up and down on the right side of the stage. She waves at her mom and grandparents first, and then waves with both arms, big and wide, to Harry and Zayn towards the back.

Once the lights come on and everyone starts milling about for cookies and juice, parents approach teachers about their kids’ progress. Zayn goes to grab some apple juice when Harry takes a phone call, while Ev holds her grandma’s hand as Miss Sisson tells the Perraults all about Ev and how brilliant she is. Or at least, that’s what he assumes Miss Sisson must be saying all the way across the room. As he waits in line to take a piss a few minutes later, he notices Harry has come back inside. He’s with Rachel, standing close in a corner, whispering with serious faces. She grabs his arm and tries to stop him from doing something, Zayn can tell.

That can’t be good.

Sure enough, when he steps out of the restroom that featured a few miniature urinals only a foot off the floor, he catches Harry’s eye. Something isn’t right, something is very wrong, so Zayn pushes his way through the crowd. When he’s halfway to Harry, miraculously, Harry uses his eyes to send a message. They have a whole conversation.

_Can we go outside?_

_Now?_

_I need to talk to you._

_Parking lot._

_Okay._

Zayn changes course and instead of walking towards Harry, he moves to his left to the double doors leading into the hall. He gets all the way outside and has a few seconds to spare, when Harry comes tripping out of the same door behind him. It’s darker now, the parking lot a little damp from a drizzle that must’ve started to fall during the show.

Zayn sniffs and goes to zip up his jacket, the leather already damp. Harry won’t look at him. He keeps pulling at his hair as they walk farther and farther away from the building, like he can’t decide if he should put it up in a bun. Zayn almost offers the extra hair band he keeps for Harry and Ev hair related emergencies, the one around his left wrist, but he can’t keep dancing around like this.

“What’s up?” he asks, worried now.

They stop next to a Mazda with a dent in the hood.

Harry licks his lips. They’ve gone red from the slight May chill. He pulls at the stupid silk jacket one of his bosses gave him and steps closer. Zayn wants to reach a hand out and hold his hand, but something tells him not to.

“Harry,” Zayn tries again.

Harry finally looks up at Zayn’s face, his green eyes barely visible in the low light of the street lamps.

“I’m going on tour with that band I told you about,” he says. “I’m going to assist their music director and produce an EP from the road. I just got the call to confirm it.”

Zayn blinks at him.

“They start up in New York in a few days, and finish out in California or Seattle in August, depending on what their tour manager can work out for the back half. Scheduling and whatnot, we don’t know yet…” he rambles, shoving his hands into his jean pockets with a shrug.

“You’re leaving,” Zayn says for him, because Harry’s a fucking coward and won’t say the exact words himself.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, his face red. “Tomorrow morning.”

Zayn blinks rapidly, his brain reeling.

“But what about the baby? Cheyenne is due so soon, you… what if you miss it? What if you can’t get back in time? What about… Ev’s done with school tomorrow and she has the whole summer… we…”

Harry steps back, so they’re not so close.

“When I called Cheyenne to meet me at the apartment…” Harry starts, his feet nervous and fidgety. “I told her.”

“Told her _what?”_ Zayn asks, pissed now.

Harry stares at Zayn, his face blank and empty. Like the day he fucking saw Cheyenne on his doorstep, when he could barely remember his own name.

“I told her I wanted to take her up on that offer. For Christmas cards and letters every so often. Pictures, maybe. If she wants.”

Zayn feels that statement so viscerally, the oxygen _whooshing_ out of his lungs so fast, he has to take a step back to make sure his equilibrium doesn’t get thrown off. He steadies himself and holds a hand up, in disbelief.

“Are you fucking serious?”

He can’t even say it, can’t comprehend that this is what Harry has chosen. That he’s telling Zayn now, in the parking lot of his daughter’s fucking school. He points even, towards Ev’s school where he picks her up every day, where Harry’s on file as a trusted guardian, to the auditorium he just whistled in. But Harry won’t look at it.

“Are you fucking serious, Harry,” Zayn says again, the anger getting the better of him.

Harry’s face falls then, like he’s been holding it still for too long. It’s pure anguish, the way his mouth curls and his eyebrows dance. He reaches his hands up and has to slap at his cheeks, to get some blood flowing. He bites his lip again and looks to Zayn, like Zayn has to hear him out and understand.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Zayn. But I can’t be a mess like this anymore, not around you and Ev. I’m making your lives more difficult and it’s not fair. It’s just that you… you said it’s so hard, you know?”

Zayn stares at him.

“Even when it’s good, when it’s fun and easy… it’s still _hard_ for you. Still, even now. I… I watched you suffer this past year. You said you lose it, you lose part of yourself, you can’t function anymore. Remember? How it feels like a fucking _punch_ when Ev is sad? You can’t fucking _breathe_ when you’re not with her,” Harry says, slightly manic, pointing towards her school.

“You can’t breathe without her. How is that _good?_ How is that _okay?_ I can’t do that. I can’t… This kid will be better off without me and my shitty decisions. I… This isn’t my life, Zayn.”

Zayn shoves at him. He moves forward and fucking shoves Harry as hard as he can, for throwing his tears and heartache back in his face, to use it against him in his case for why he can’t be a fucking father to his kid.

“Fuck you. Do you _hear_ yourself right now? Who the fuck _are_ you?” Zayn cries out in disbelief, his voice cracking. “Before Cheyenne showed up, you were in. You wanted me. You wanted us. And Ev. This was your fucking life. You chose it. _Now_ you decide to get cold feet?”

“I’m not… I’m not where you are, this isn’t... It’s not me. I did it for awhile, I played house because I was with you, I wanted you… but…” Harry says, face still screwed up. “I’m good at that part. I can play with kids and babies, and they love me. And I love them. And then they go home. I’m – I’m Uncle Harry, that’s it.”

Zayn shoves him again, hot tears springing to his eyes. _I never should’ve let you in my fucking house, you fucking asshole. I told you not to drag this out and I let you do it anyways._

Harry lets him. He stumbles backwards, but he’s not done.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, with tears in his eyes now too. “It all happened so fast, it got so crazy and out of control and now… I’m expected to have two kids in two months? That’s fucking insane. This is insanity, Zayn.”

“So you wanna be Ev’s uncle, then? That’s it?”

Harry finally looks angry then too. He stops moving and points to Zayn with a firm finger.

“I love that kid with every cell in my body, Zayn. You know I do. I don’t want to abandon anyone.”

Zayn scoffs and turns towards the cars behind them, the ones with wet windshields. His is there somewhere, rows and rows away, because even though they weren’t late, they were right on time. And they had to park a fucking football field away.

Harry touches his arm, but it feels like it burns. So Zayn practically hisses as he jumps away from it. But he turns to Harry and crosses his arms, so he won’t put his hands into fists. He can’t hit Harry. He can’t be that asshole from college who could hit anyone for lesser reasons than this.

“Zayn, I swear. I’m gonna…” Harry says holding his hair again, “I’m gonna send Cheyenne money every month. I won’t be on the birth certificate, but I’m gonna do that. I’ll do what I can. I’m gonna take care of her however I can. And – and I can still call Ev, we can Skype, and I’ll visit sometimes when tour stops down for a few days...”

Zayn’s jaw drops.

“Rach says she needs a routine, right? And needs to know her constants, her family and family friends, that they’re only a call away, right? I – even if you and I are – not – I can call her!” Harry says, his voice rising, still manic.

Zayn shakes his head and can’t fucking believe this is happening. He steps further away and stares at Harry like he’s never seen him before. If his eyes could force Harry to his knees, he’d be crawling on the wet concrete towards Zayn’s feet.

But instead, he levels Harry with his words.

“Were you planning to leave all this time?”

“What?”

“Were you planning to leave me, Harry. Answer the question. Were you going to leave us?”

“I didn’t… it wasn’t a conscious thought, Zayn. But I guess… I figured if it went south, I could go.”

“Wow.”

_Rachel was fucking right all along. Motherfucker._

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Harry frowns. “Don’t make me out to be a liar. You know I loved spending time with you two. I just like knowing I can go. You know me, you know this about me. I like knowing I can get on a plane and be somewhere else.”

Zayn shakes his head as he closes his eyes. He needs to block everything out, he can’t look at Harry, or be near him, or smell his fucking cologne. He needs to get the fuck away from him.

But then he hears Ev laughing. She must be exiting the school with her mom and grandparents. People have begun to filter out of the auditorium, to leave for the night and prepare for the final day of school in the morning. Rachel and Ev are going to come and find them in a few seconds.

Rachel.

 _Just remember that whoever you invite in here, into your home… you’re inviting them to be around Ev. You’re letting them get close to her. And if they decide to go away, or leave_ _you_ _… they’re leaving her, too._

_I was serious when I told you to be careful with anyone being around Evie._

_When it comes to Ev, you have to look at everything._

_I told Harry to understand the severity of being around a child, to take the responsibility seriously._

_He pulls away and makes rash decisions._

_You’ve already let it get this far, and you didn’t even try to stop it._

Zayn opens his eyes and thinks of Rachel. He looks over at her even, as she bundles Ev in her little jacket and makes sure to do the buttons. She waves to her parents who wander off to their car, and then picks Evie up into her arms to go looking for him.

Zayn should’ve been more careful. He should’ve told Harry from day one not to stick around, even as just his friend, if he’s the type of flake to never follow through. He never looked at the big picture. He never fucking put Ev first. He saw Harry pulling away, at the rash decisions and stupid fucking comments and he never tried to stop it.

He saw Harry diving off into the deep end and asked if they were going steady, because he never had the balls to ask before.

Well. If he wouldn’t stop it then, he’ll finally fucking stop it now.

Zayn turns to Harry, who has gone completely silent. He rubs at his face, points his toes inward, as his wide open shirt flaps around in the wind.

The anger returns and then Zayn is stepping to him, to poke at his chest.

“You drift into peoples’ lives and smile, and expect us not to miss you when you’re gone, because _you’re_ fucked up and don’t miss anyone,” he sneers, as Harry gasps. “So fine. If you want to leave, then leave. Rach was right: you pull away and just expect us to be fine. Like you can just be Uncle Harry who sends Ev presents on her birthday. That’s what you want, right? To be Uncle Harry, who gets the fun and games every few weeks over Skype, but nothing real?”

Harry’s at a loss for words, his face confused. Rachel and Ev have to be close. Zayn needs to hurry.

“I’m saying no. I’m finally fucking telling you no. I told you, Harry. You can’t love her every other weekend or whenever it’s convenient for _you_. You’re either all in, or you’re not. Can’t do it halfway, right?”

Harry must remember Cheyenne’s old words, because his chin shakes only an inch from Zayn’s.

But Zayn’s not done.

“Rachel told you all those months ago to get a grip and accept responsibility when it came to taking care of a child. And you were fine with it. You signed the school forms. You were in,” Zayn pokes him again, to prove his point, that Harry is fucking weak. “And that means you really did only ever see Ev as temporary. Because when faced with ‘real fatherhood,’ you’re going to bail. You’re a _coward_.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry tries to mumble, shaking his head.

“You said you missed me. Remember? And then you wondered if that meant something. Well it fucking did. It still does. You miss me and you love me and you love Ev. You’re supposed to be with us. You have a kid on the way and a whole new fucking life to lead, and you’re scared. You’re a _child._ ”

Harry nods and sniffs, shrugging his shoulders. Like he’s given up. Like he’s accepting that he’s the piece of shit he always believed himself to be. The therapy kid with step-daddy issues because his first dad never stuck around either.

He reaches out and places a tentative hand on Zayn’s arm, shaking his head.

“I’m not like you. I can’t be a dad, Zayn,” he whispers.

Zayn shoves him away and grabs for his keys in his pocket. He’s done with this conversation. He turns and sees that Rachel and Ev have gotten held up by another daisy and mother. But Ev sees Zayn and Harry a few cars away, and waves to them.

They both raise their hands up, to wave back.

Zayn almost slaps Harry’s arm away. _You don’t get to break up with me and then wave to her. Fuck you._

Harry puts his hand down before he can.

“You can’t be a dad?” Zayn hisses, before turning back to Harry. “Well too fucking late. You already are. I have a kid who is going to be devastated, to prove it. So go on your little tour and sow your wild fucking oats. Go fuck groupies and drink yourself stupid. I won’t chase you or profess my love with a fucking message written in the sky. I’m finally learning to put Ev first. Absolutely, 100% first.”

Harry nods, his tears threatening to fall

“I’m here,” Zayn points to the ground, to this place, in this city. “I’m staying here. And I refuse to let my life be some dramatic fucking soap opera, with you drifting in and out of it, calling whenever you please because it’ll make you feel better about leaving her. You don’t get the phone calls and letters, not with Ev. Not with me. This is done.”

Zayn’s hands shake as he turns. The energy thrums through him to the point it almost hurts. And that’s the moment Rachel and Ev approach, at the end of his diatribe, right there in the slick parking lot as parents start pulling their cars out around them. Cars honk, radios play music, kids wave out of their windows. Rachel has a knowing look to her face, but it’s different. Like maybe she knew this was going to happen eventually, but not here. Not like this, on school property, with Ev so near. She opens her mouth, right as Evie tries to squirm down from her arms.

Before Rachel can grab her, she runs to Zayn.

“Zayn, don’t,” Rachel warns viciously, right as Zayn picks her up and turns towards Harry. She knows him so fucking well. It’s probably why she hates him so much. Their fights always were epic.

Zayn looks at Harry as he holds a hand to his mouth, his lips dancing under his fingertips, face a wreck.

“Tell Harry bye, baby,” Zayn practically grunts, walking Ev towards him.

Harry and Rachel stare at him, completely stunned.

“Zayn, I…” Harry starts to say, recognizing like Rachel already has, that Zayn is too angry for this. He needs to cool off. Harry gives Zayn a look that says _not here, let’s go home, I’ll say goodbye to her later,_ but Zayn shakes his head like he’s lost his fucking mind.

“Nope, we’re doing this now,” Zayn practically screams at Harry, Ev going still in his arms. “Tell Harry bye.”

Evie’s lip begins to tremble, even as she holds onto Zayn’s rigid shoulders.

“Harry’s going away on a long, long trip and he’s not coming back,” Zayn says angrily, placing Ev as gently as he can in Harry’s arms.

_You wanna leave my kid, you wanna leave me, then be a fucking man and say it._

Rachel steps to Zayn and grips his arm, her nails digging into his skin. Zayn has never seen her look so angry. They look to Evie, and Zayn is reminded of the first time she had to leave his apartment, when she couldn’t process what she was feeling. Her emotions pass over her face one after the other: sadness, confusion, grief, fear.

All she can process is that Harry’s holding her and he’s crying. Her parents are right there, but they’re mad. She doesn’t understand.

“Tell Harry bye,” Zayn repeats himself, already hating what he’s done, but unable to stop. “Say bye, Evelyn.”

She sniffs.

“Harry, where are you going?” Ev finally turns to Harry and asks, to try to do as she’s told, her fingers on his coat collar.

“I gotta go work,” he says quietly, face a mess.

“But why?”

“I just gotta.”

She starts to cry then for real, her arms going around his neck. She’s only five and she knows what it means for someone to go away for long periods of time, to be away from her, somewhere she can’t see or touch.

“Why do you have to go away?” she cries.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, closing his eyes. He tries to move her away from him, to set her down.

But she won’t let go.

“But what about the crabs? We were gonna go catch the crabs,” she cries harder, wrapping her limbs around him more firmly. She cries into his neck, big wracking sobs, as Harry runs a shaking hand over her back.

Harry’s entire face breaks into anguish, tears leaking from his eyes with every word.

“I’m real sorry, toots,” he says between ragged breaths.

Something snaps inside Zayn then, as he shrugs Rachel’s hand off his arm. He rushes forward for his daughter, to grip her around the torso and pull her towards him. But she still won’t let go, she cries and cries, as Harry tries to shift her away with his eyes closed. It’s like when she realized Zayn was never coming home to her house again. And just like that time, Zayn feels it: _this is all my fault._

Zayn eventually peels Evelyn off of Harry. She turns in his arms and holds onto Zayn for dear life, her hair now wilted and stuck to her forehead. Zayn can’t look at Harry, or Rachel, so he marches past them towards the far off row of the parking lot where his car is.

He doesn’t get to take Evie to his apartment. It’s not his day. He’ll eventually have Rachel running to him to take Ev back to her real home, with a few choice words for him for making Ev do that.

But for now, he needs to hold onto her. He’s away from his kid all the time, almost every fucking day, and it’s not fair. He’d fucking die for his flesh and blood, and Harry’s leaving his behind. Right then, in that moment, Zayn needs Ev. So he lets her cry on his shoulder, while he cries, too.

_I'm sorry, baby. I really hope you don't remember this._

 

***

 

Harry’s apartment is locked up tight the next day.

The dark curtains are drawn.

Zayn stares at it from his own living room, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, and he knows Harry is gone.

 

 

 


	4. About the Size of a Small Pumpkin

 

** June **

 

Zayn finds the world a lot easier to take in when it’s whizzing past him at seventy miles an hour. He doesn’t have to focus long and hard on the intricacies of it, the starts and stops, the sunrises and sunsets, closed curtains and locked doors, not when he’s bent low over his bike’s handlebars. The only focal point he needs is the dotted yellow line separating him from oncoming traffic. He doesn’t have to take in the blinding headlights of other cars, or the turn signals of trucks ahead of him trying to get out of his way. There aren’t any far off streetlights to care about. No dancing glitter of reds and yellows and greens to stress over. He doesn’t have to think about anything other than keeping himself alive on that highway, the mechanics of the machinery beneath him, as he cruises.

_Squeeze the clutch._

_Shift gears._

_First, neutral, second, third, fourth, fifth._

_Faster, Zayn._

_No braking tonight._

_Be loud._

_Blow their fucking eardrums out with your noise._

_Alert the world of your presence._

_Say I’m here, I’m right here, you can hear me loud and clear, waking up your babies, whizzing past well over the speed limit, disrupting your little towns._

_Hate me, be mad at my carelessness, the asshole on the bike just asking to get killed._

_Scoff at me, flip me the bird, open your mouth to scream it over my booming chaos._

_Nice try, I can’t hear you, I’m already gone._

It’s the best part about riding a motorcycle, Zayn thinks. By the time a quaint white family of four look out of their SUV windows, pointing at how dangerous he is to weave between lanes, he’s already fucking smoked them. Miles away. Burning rubber to beat speed limit signs that can’t contain him.

He heads north. He speeds past a slow moving mini van. It’s as he revs on that he allows himself the nagging thought in passing: _wish I didn’t have to wear the helmet_. On a night like this, when it’s warm and sticky, his arms bare, his knees dirty, he’d really like to have the wind in his hair. There’s nothing quite like barreling down a paved highway, chin tilted up, hair standing on end, with only the sound of your own recklessness pounding in your ears. If people thought a motorcycle was loud and intrusive as a bystander, they should try riding on one for a change. It’s so loud, Zayn can practically _feel_ the sound, from where it originates in the motor under his ass, to the tips of his fingers inside his gloves.

But Zayn is anything but naïve. He can’t coast down an almost deserted highway without a helmet. Greater men than he have tried, and lost the battle. He can’t chance getting in an accident and having his brains splattered along a graffitied overpass. He can’t get cocky, try to beat a semi, and end up with every bone in his body broken beyond repair.

Because even though he’s not allowed to see her, he has a kid to think about.

Even with his helmet keeping his head and spinal column level and straight, Zayn can’t help but shake his head a bit. _Stop it._ He’s an idiot, for thinking of Ev now. He has to focus. _Stay alive._ _Get home by sunrise._ He doesn’t want to think about the world, and since Ev is his world, he shifts the gear switch and accelerates.

Ev doesn’t belong on a motorcycle, even if it is just in his thoughts. Ev deserves to be happy, safe and sound at home in her little twin bed with purple sheets. She’s not baggage to carry around, a troublesome memory, or a mistake to wallow in. She’s a tiny human, with thoughts and feelings all her own. She likes and loves and hates, and right now, Zayn is the worst thing for her. If Zayn thinks about Ev too much, it can’t be good for anyone. It means he’ll try to lash out, at Rachel, to see her. And he can’t disrupt the routine.

Ev can’t be here tonight.

So Zayn boxes up all thought, he flips the switch in his brain, to tell himself to shut the fuck up and drive. Compartmentalize. _All you are, in this moment, is a guy on a bike. Just drive, coast, accelerate, shift, rev, go._ He speeds past houses and gas stations, tree lines near the water, off ramps that could take him somewhere far away.

He’s been out all night, driving around since the sun went down, trying hard to ignore that which has destroyed him from the inside out. After the days he spent staring out his window at Harry’s lifeless apartment, he needed this. He’s barely left his apartment for six whole days. This was necessary, for his soul. But now he needs to go home. It’s time to go home. Zayn can’t escape his life, he can’t run or leave. There’s no fight or flight. Just a few hours on his bike, to forget.

Try as he might, Zayn’s not this person anymore. He hasn’t been this person for a very long time, the guy on the bike too fucking wild and uncontrolled for his own good.

_I’m a father and I go the speed limit._

He decelerates as he nears his exit. Instead of scoffing at the helmet covering the thin bones of his skull, he tries to remember why he likes it so much. It’s red. Like embers of a fire, burned down to nothing, glowing in the dark. Red because Maliks are fiery.

He walks up the path to the apartment building, suddenly exhausted. He ignores Harry’s door as he tugs the helmet off, cracking his back from hunching for too long. He lets himself into his front door, the key sticking like always, and pretends not to see Harry’s pieces everywhere.

Shoes, t-shirts, a guitar, a piece of floss in the bathroom trash can, an old grocery list on the counter, his favorite coffee mug in the sink.

Zayn walks right past all of it, to shut himself up in his bedroom again.

He doesn’t even undress. He just kicks off his boots and collapses onto his too firm mattress right as the sun comes up, sweaty and covered in grime. He shoves his head under a pillow and quickly passes out.

 

***

 

The Great Barrier Reef puzzle is about halfway done, with all of the easiest chunks put together first. Harry always said, as he’d dump out the thousands of endless puzzle pieces into a pile, to look at the box and pick out the parts where colors were few and far between. The Seattle puzzle for instance, was a huge mix of mostly blues and greys. It was a monotone cluster of buildings, with the neutral Space Needle in the center, and an overcast Northwest sky behind it. Harry warned him it would be hard. That it would take time and energy. To get through it, they had to go for the color first. Zayn sat silently, as Harry pointed to the picture’s lower half. It featured a few small spots near the bottom, where cars were a mess of different colors. Reds, yellows, a splash of green, white exhaust.

So they went for those bits first, when they spread the pile of pieces out. By the time they were left with the blues and greys, it didn’t seem so arduous. Harry was usually right when it came to puzzles and games.

But the reef is another story. It’s huge, for one. Over a twelve hundred pieces that will probably take up the entire table and then some. It’s different shades of ocean blue and sea foam green, so many pieces of the same color, it felt as endless as the fucking ocean itself.

Luckily it had beautiful spurts of color here and there towards the lower half. Corals, tropical fish, a sea turtle the color of a sunset. It was beautiful, just the type of beautiful thing Ev would want to focus on. Bursting with energy, a billion tiny organisms that breathed life into the space. Pockets of color. Purples, pinks, reds. Zayn went for those first, piled them by color around the table just so, like he used to with his gummy bears as a kid. He then gets to work meticulously piecing them together. And then all he was left with was the difficult part: the expanse of ocean that took up half of the picture. It’ll take him days to sift through the endless pieces of _blue blue blue_ , to connect them, corners first because corners are most important.

He holds a hand to his head and stares at the blue piece pile and almost curses at it. Why couldn’t the whole puzzle be different colored fish and wildlife? Why did it have to be this fucking hard to get the ocean right? He fucking _hates_ the ocean; this was a stupid fucking idea.

After a full thirty minutes, he has found only two pieces that fit together. He has two out of about five hundred. He sighs, takes a slow gulp of his whiskey, and hits the home button on his phone to check the time, yet again. He’s just biding his time until the phone call. It’s all he does these days: sit around by himself, pretend to work, put a puzzle together, wait for the call.

Another five minutes, and he has one more blue piece tacked onto the two he paired up before. A smashing success, that Zayn Malik. Really living his life to the fullest.

Suddenly his phone begins to vibrate. He scrambles for it, almost knocking his whiskey tumbler into the blue pieces.

“Hi baby,” he says in a rush, almost out of breath he’s so excited to talk to her. “I miss you.”

“Hi daddy,” Ev replies happily, her voice clear and beautiful from states away.

“How are you? Where are you right now?”

“Me and mommy and Aunt Cece are doing nails at Aunt Cece’s house,” she says sweetly, although very much distracted.

Zayn hears a few giggles, of cousins and neighbors probably joining in on the fun. They’re up in Connecticut at Rachel’s sister’s place. They needed to “get away for awhile.” A girl’s trip. It was time to celebrate Ev’s first year of school, for all her hard work. It’s summer now, and all Ev needed to worry about was wearing enough sunscreen, keeping her floaties inflated, and playing at the beach.

“What color?” Zayn asks, physically leaning forward like she’s in front of him. He’s grasping for straws, grasping for anything she can give him. He hasn’t seen her in what feels like years, instead of just weeks. The last time he held her was the night of her school play, back towards the end of May, when he completely fucked everything up. He looks at his hand and sees his clean, unpolished nails and hates it. He misses the paint Ev so often applied, with her tongue between her teeth so she could concentrate.

It’s like those three weeks last August all over again, when he had to move out of the house and Rachel took Ev somewhere where she didn’t have to watch. Separated, kept apart, in different houses in different places.

“Yellow!” she squeals, probably holding her little hand out in front of her, to admire the view.

“Yellow’s good. We love yellow, don’t we,” Zayn says with a smile, his heart aching.

“Yellow’s my favorite, I think. Just like bananas and lemonade and… the sun! And corn on the cob and… frosting!”

Zayn smiles so hard, he has to bite his lip.

“What else? Tell me everything,” Zayn says.

On the other end of the line, he hears a door slam, the pitter-patter of little feet, the barking of Cecelia’s dog. He’d guess they’re in the dining room, at the table he’s eaten Thanksgiving dinners at, where they lay out Fourth of July barbeque items. Birthday cakes and anniversary entrees for the family.

Rachel says something to her sister, something about dinner maybe, and it sounds like a mad house. It’s so different from Zayn’s apartment, the one he still hasn’t cleaned or cleared out to get rid of Harry’s pieces. Zayn sort of wishes he could be there, even if it meant having to spend time with Rachel’s sister and her lame husband Jim. It seemed like a small price to pay, considering he’s not allowed to see Ev right now. He’d give anything to see Ev.

“We gotta go, daddy!” Ev yells, ignoring him. “We’re gonna have cobbler!”

Zayn frowns. He only got a few minutes today.

“Oh, okay. I miss you, baby. I love you so much, remember? I love you the size of Texas.”

“I love you the size of the ocean!” Ev screams, probably knocking over the nail polish if the sound of Rachel’s scoffing is anything to go by.

“Love you the size of the world.”

“I love you the size of the moon!” Ev screams again.

Zayn lays his forehead down on the table, right onto a puzzle piece. He doesn’t care. It’ll leave a mark in his skin, but he can’t move. Even when Ev is distracted and excited to be living her dream of being at the beach, she still seems happy to speak to him. It’s a small victory, but Zayn holds onto it.

“Can I talk to mommy?” Zayn says quietly.

“Yep! Bye daddy!”

The phone is then thrust from Ev’s little fingers into Rachel’s waiting palm. She must remove herself from the room, maybe to the hall closet, because it gets quiet right as she says hello in a measured voice.

“Are you coming back soon?” he asks, not even pretending to hide the desperation in his voice.

“Zayn, I told you I don’t know yet. There isn’t a plan here,” she says, probably pinching the bridge of her nose, but careful of her wet nails. She’s good at being careful. Never smudges it. “I had the time off, I took it, we’re here for the foreseeable future.”

“But – ”

“I told you, I’ll call you when we start the drive back.”

Zayn tries to nod into the table, but his head doesn’t move much.

“Do I get her? When you’re back?”

_It’s been too long, I can’t go this long without seeing her, it’s worse when I can’t see her, please don’t let her hate me._

“Maybe soon… I… I don’t know,” Rachel sighs. “You really hurt her, Zayn. You really, really hurt her.”

“I know,” Zayn whispers, closing his eyes.

“I’m not going to keep having the same conversation with you over it, though. Just… To put her in the middle of that fight, to dramatically force her to say goodbye to Harry, was _cruel_ ,” Rachel says, voice hard. “I told him not to tell you at the school, and he didn’t listen. And I told you he would leave. I told you not to push that hard with him. It’s not your fault he decided to go, but I… I can’t forgive you for making Ev _watch_.”

Zayn only nods into his second hand wooden table, the blue fucking puzzle piece probably hermetically sealed to his skin by this point. As always, his ex-wife is absolutely right.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“I’ll have her call you tomorrow,” Rachel says. “Same time.”

Zayn nods again, right as Rachel ends the call. Zayn stays with his face in the wood of the table for a very long time. And when he finally lifts it to look at the mountain of a puzzle before him, he wishes he didn’t have to do it alone. The distraction only works when Harry’s next to him, handing the right pieces because he can anticipate where they go long before Zayn can figure it out.

It’s not a distraction at all. It’s just a painful reminder. He’s alone, Harry left, Ev needs time away, he’s alone alone alone.

Zayn resents the puzzle then. He blinks and wishes he could throw the whole fucking thing away. But he can’t. He can’t break it apart, or undo the pieces he’s so meticulously crafted together. Even Zayn, the dramatic and hothead he is, knows to give it time.

He can always come back to it.

So Zayn leaves the kitchen with a resigned sigh and throws himself on the couch in the living room, to watch old “Master Chef” episodes. He sees Ev’s pink ukulele in the corner, and pretends it’s not there entirely.

 

***

 

The memory of the look on Evelyn’s face as Rachel took her from Zayn’s arms that night in the school parking lot won’t seem to go away. It’s been a little over two weeks and for minutes at a time, Zayn catches himself staring off into space, remembering it. He held her so tightly against his chest, as the two of them cried together. Zayn wouldn’t let her see his face, kept a firm hand on the back of her head so she’d rest it on his shoulder. He leaned them against his car, whispered he was sorry, that he loved her so much, over and over.

It was probably only a few minutes, but it seemed to last hours. And then Rachel was pulling at his arm, her face red, to take Ev from him. Evie went with her easily, wrapped herself around her mother, to that warm, soft space she still likes to nuzzle into. In the span of minutes, Harry held her first, until Zayn took her from him, only for Rachel to take her from Zayn. Passed around. Handed off. Zayn tried to say sorry, to kiss her, to tell her he’d see her soon, but Rachel practically shoved him back with her free hand.

“No,” she hissed, hand then pressed on Ev’s ear.

“Rach – ”

“You did that for you,” she said, tears in her eyes. “You did that to punish Harry, to hurt him, for hurting you. You still don’t _get it,_ Zayn.”

Zayn frowned at her, at a loss. He did it for Ev. Everything he does is for Ev. Harry was leaving her, he chose a life without her in it. Harry saw how much she loved him, how she craved his attention, his comfort, his unwavering affection, and he made the choice to throw it away. So Zayn fought for her. He shoved Harry, told him off, wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of having Ev on the other end of any phone calls. Harry didn’t deserve Ev.

Rachel shook her head at him, refusing to say anything more. And in that moment, Zayn understood.

Everything was so clear.

Rachel had their daughter crying her eyes out in her arms. She had Evie close, somewhere Evie should feel safe and loved. And even though Rachel fucking hated Zayn, detested him and every stupid fucking decision he ever made, she kept her mouth shut. She wanted to hurt him, the same way he hurt her for so many years, with her fists or her words. She wanted sole custody, to sign the papers and tell Zayn to go fuck himself at long last. She wanted Zayn to hurt. To be hurt.

She wanted to scream at him, he could see the words practically pressing up against her teeth, but she didn’t.

Rachel never kept Ev from Zayn, not for long, or for no reason. She always made sure to tell Ev, in front of Zayn and in private, that her daddy loved her, that he was silly, but the best daddy ever. Ev loved her room at Zayn’s place because Rachel told her it was pretty. She made sure Zayn knew what to do, how to recite The List of tree nuts, how to be a father, where to go. She held his hand at every sonogram, not for herself, but for him. They both knew it would be hard for him, to be a parent. She made sure that even if he wasn’t innately good at it, he would be sure to _try his hardest_. For Ev.

_Tell your daddy thank you. Go give daddy a hug. You’re so lucky. Your daddy loves you so much, doesn’t he? Daddy can come to the house any time he wants._

Because Rachel puts Ev first. Rachel _always_ puts Ev first. She set aside their fighting and differences, even after the horrible things Zayn said to her before the official separation. She looked around at his shitty, empty apartment, and only shook her head. She chose Ev’s happiness above her own every single fucking day, when Zayn was messy, forgetful, irresponsible. She let him pick Ev up from school even though it killed her to add more worrying to her plate. She made sure to check Harry out, look into his past, request that he think about Ev’s future, when Zayn never did. When he never could.

Rachel has a boyfriend as we speak, the guy from work. But Ev doesn’t even know his name, because Rachel isn’t ready for her to know. Not unless it’s serious. Not unless it’s going somewhere.

Zayn blinked and suddenly more tears were falling from his eyes, as Rachel turned and walked away. Ev looked up from Rach’s shoulder and stared at Zayn with her wide Malik eyes, all the way to the car. She didn’t wave. She didn’t smile or blow him a kiss. Maybe she knew, even at her young age, that her dad was a disappointment.

Zayn wondered how Rachel got her to sleep that night, if she cried herself into exhaustion, or if she sucked her thumb and listened to a story quietly. She’s such a good girl, she probably sniffled a bit, and then asked Rachel to tell her about a princess or Wonder Woman fighting off a bad guy. Zayn hopes he didn’t cause damage, that she dreamed only good things, even if she missed Harry and couldn’t understand why her dad was so sad all the time.

Zayn drove around for a few hours, unsure of what to do. When he finally got home, he ignored Harry’s apartment as he walked to his door. He didn’t look for any movement behind the curtains, the packing he must’ve done in a frantic hurry. They didn’t cross paths. Zayn took a sleeping pill and tried not to weep like a fucking asshole into his pillow.

The next day, Zayn woke up to a text from Rachel saying that she was going to take Ev to her sister’s house in Connecticut once school let out for the year. They didn’t have a return date set in stone. No, Zayn cannot see her or talk to her just yet. Ev can’t associate Zayn with negative behavior or upsetting circumstances. All Ev should think about, when they talk about that night, is how beautiful and graceful she was up on that stage. She needs a few days to forget.

Zayn asked if he’d ever get to see her again.

Rachel responded like a grown up and told him to get a fucking grip, that of course he would see his child again.

_You don’t cut off ties with a co-parent just because they make you angry. That’s not fair. I’m not selfish. She loves you. We’ll set up a time for you to talk every day while we’re away, not for you, but for her. She needs to talk to you consistently. She needs you around._

So that’s what Zayn does now, in between working at his desk, drinking on his couch, and staring at the puzzle on his kitchen table. For two weeks straight, and going into a third: he waits around for his Ev phone calls, day after day, because he can’t let Ev down again. He royally fucked up in that parking lot. He’s still so fucking angry with Harry, for leaving him and Ev, for upsetting the balance of their life together. He can’t forgive Harry for his decision to abandon his unborn child. He wants to punch a wall, cry into Harry’s gym shirt, smash the guitar in the corner.

But he can’t be selfish. He has to put Ev first. Finally. Because he’s realized he never put Ev first, not when he started his thing with Harry, not in the middle of it when all he could see was Harry’s eyes in front of him, his hair on Zayn’s pillows, his favorite spatula among Zayn’s utensils. He didn’t put Ev first when he let Harry chaperone, or kiss her goodnight, or make her breakfast every fucking morning she spent with them, when he could _feel_ the impending doom.

And he definitely didn’t put Ev first when they broke up in that parking lot and made Ev be a witness to it.

The break up, along with the time Zayn forgot Ev in the car as a baby, will forever be red marks on his ledger. He’ll never be able to make up for either incident. He’ll never be able to forget his shortcomings.

Zayn let Harry in. He let Harry get close and let Ev love him. Zayn should’ve lived with that, and let her say goodbye in her own way. He should’ve let her call him if she needed to, as he drove off to the airport. If Harry wanted to send her presents and be on the other end of the phone if she woke up crying from a bad dream for those first few transition weeks, Zayn should’ve say yes. If they were going to break up and fall out of love, Zayn should’ve let Ev wean herself off of Harry. He should’ve given her the time to disconnect, one phone call at a time.

It was selfish on Harry’s part, to want to stick around from afar, but it was even more selfish of Zayn to refuse the offer.

Rachel always said he pushed too hard. She knew if he pushed hard enough, he’d shove Harry right out the door. Harry unlocked it and decided to make his exit. But Zayn closed it. And now Ev is the one to suffer most.

On a Saturday morning, Zayn wakes up with bleary eyes and dirty hair. He looks around his apartment, at all of Harry’s leftover pieces. He picks them up one by one, and puts them in an old gym bag Harry had in the closet. He doesn’t burn it or throw anything away, because he’s trying to live life less radically and not play a part in the very “dramatic fucking soap opera” he warned Harry he’d never live. He shoves the bag under his bed, for now. He hasn’t used the key to Harry’s apartment, even though he should. But he can’t be in Harry’s space, not yet.

When Evelyn calls him that afternoon for their daily phone call, he smiles wide. He has her tell him all about the sand castles she made that morning, her favorite games to play in the ocean, how she’s singing so many songs for her cousins. They talk for a full half hour, about everything and nothing, and Zayn drinks it up with a straw. Ev has stopped asking Zayn about Harry. Where he is, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s singing songs with other new little girls instead of her. They don’t talk about Harry anymore.

Zayn prays she’s starting to forget.

But when he asked before she put Ev on, Rachel told him Ev still asks to sing her Harry song every night before bed. It’s still her favorite.

It’ll take her a bit more time to forget fully.

Ev tells him she loves him, she misses him, and can’t wait for him to take her to the beach “at home” so they can make sand castles together. He promises he will very, very soon. They send kisses through the phone, ten in a row, and then he hangs up.

Finally, Zayn sits down at his desk. He adjusts his freshly cleaned glasses, and opens his laptop. He has work to do. There are bills to pay, emails to answer, pieces to write.

He’s a father and he goes the speed limit.

He’s a father and he has responsibilities.

 

***

 

On the 18th of June, Zayn returns home after a long and exhausting morning. He carries a grocery bag into the kitchen, already munching on an apple since he couldn’t wait for the drive home to eat something.

He had picked up a new plant for the living room, since he read having some green around makes for a better living environment. He suspects his apartment needs a bit more oxygen in it.

Then a guy helped him at Home Depot, when he went to get a new handle for the bathroom sink. It was old and cracked, so he wanted to freshen it up in the bathroom a bit. The guy had a name tag on that read Kyle, and “Kyle is a plumbing expert.” Probably knew all about leaky pipes. He was nice, attractive in a sort of boring conventional way, and definitely smiled at Zayn a few seconds too long for it to be strictly friendly and helpful. Zayn frowned in return, definitely not ready for that sort of interaction just yet.

He also went into the physical office of The Sun to have a meeting with Adam about his next month’s work. Apparently Zayn has been his most consistent and on-time freelancer. He tried to convince Zayn to come work in the office, to take even more on, but Zayn politely declined. He had to stay closer to home, he had a kid to eventually take care of again, a life no longer conducive to a crowded newsroom too far from home.

As Zayn unloads the groceries from the bag, he looks at his phone to check the time for their daily call. It’ll be the last one, officially. Rachel and Ev should be back in town the next day. He’s itching to see Evelyn, but hasn’t pushed Rach for it yet. He wants Ev to get back to her bedroom at her real house, to get settled again, to want him around instead of him just showing up.

He throws the apples into the fridge, along with some cream cheese, orange juice, and a pack of chocolate pudding. He also grabbed raisins and dried mango, because Harry always made sure to. If Ev does come to his place within the next few days, he wants her to have snacks.

Just then something catches his eye on the side of the fridge, a piece of paper tucked behind a pizza menu, both held up by an I Heart NY magnet Zayn isn’t sure of the origins of. He chews the last bite of his apple and pulls at it, the magnet tumbling to the floor.

Cheyenne’s handwriting. The paper she wrote her address and number on when she gave Harry the choice to stay or leave. Harry didn’t take the paper with him. And as he stares at it, he realizes the date. The 18th. Cheyenne is due on the 20th. She’s so close to the end, a full forty weeks pregnant, the baby the size of a small pumpkin now. Zayn remembers asking the doctor why they describe the baby as the size of a pumpkin, when at forty weeks, the baby is the size of a _baby_. His baby was the size of a newborn, the size she’d be when they placed her in Rachel’s waiting arms. Their doctor just stared at him.

Cheyenne and her pumpkin, right at the end. That is, assuming she didn’t go into labor early and Harry’s child is already living and breathing in the world.

Suddenly Zayn has to know.

He’s typing the number into his phone before he even exhales the breath he had been holding.

 

***

 

The drive is a good one. Before he started up his bike, he sat outside on the seat and had his call with Evie for fifteen minutes. He played with his gloves a bit, slapped them against his thighs, as Ev explained to him how her birthday was so soon. She wanted a party where everyone dressed up like they were at the beach, even though mommy said it was going to be in their backyard. She wanted to wear her swimsuit, and Zayn had to wear his, too. He laughed and told her they’d have whatever kind of party she wanted. So now as he switches gears and swerves around a mail truck, he contemplates what he’ll get her for her birthday. He remembers a night a few weeks before he left, when Harry brought up Ev’s birthday. He had an idea, something he wouldn’t tell Zayn, something that would be from both of them. Zayn’s heart aches a bit, jumping like it’s off-beat, like it does whenever he thinks about Harry. He’ll have to come up with an idea on his own.

Cheyenne lives with her mom for the time being, in a quaint duplex in Kensington. The block is nice, lined with trees, kids playing at the nearby park. When they spoke on the phone earlier, she insisted Zayn come see her. She said she’d like to see him, but with a laugh warned him that they didn’t have air conditioning. Zayn said he didn’t mind.

So he’s here. He’s doing it. He pulls off his helmet and gloves, sweating his balls off, and takes in the front yard. Green, spacious, just the right amount of shade. Her mom Daya is the one to let Zayn inside, since Cheyenne has taken to sitting on the couch for hours at a time, in between pee breaks, because it’s exhausting to walk far. They offer him something to drink, but he declines right as Daya leaves for work.

They don’t hug or anything as Zayn joins her. They’re still practically strangers. But she seems so friendly, so open, as he smiles at her. Her face is round, rosy, not a lick of makeup on. And Zayn knows what true “no makeup” looks like on a woman. Short shorts, a huge tank top on, just trying to find comfort in the midst of the heat and heaviness weighing her down.

Zayn wants to ask questions, to see how she’s really doing. But he doesn’t want to be too invasive and ask anything she’s uncomfortable with. He’s still not sure why he came, once Cheyenne told him that no, she hasn’t given birth yet. There’s nothing tangible to be gained from meeting up with her. She doesn’t owe him any answers, to how she’s coping, or otherwise.

But Cheyenne Gilmore clearly has no qualms about getting down and dirty, because she exhales a big breath and moves the hair away from her face.

“I’m huge,” she says, smiling but tired. “And everything hurts. Is that normal?”

Zayn smiles.

“Yeah, that’s normal,” he nods, leaning back on the couch in his sticky black t-shirt.

“Feels…” she grimaces, looking down at her protruding stomach. “Like all this pressure.”

Zayn nods again, remembering how Rachel said her “pelvic floor” felt like it had a fucking anvil trying to push through her entire last two weeks pregnant. Zayn doesn’t want to sit and tell Cheyenne about her own goddamn body, how her hipbones and back probably hurt because the birth canal is widening. Her bones are literally breaking, separating, to make room for the baby’s head. He looks away, embarrassed, when his thoughts stray to how firm and tender her breasts must be.

“So how are you?” Cheyenne asks him, getting him to focus. It’s very polite of her, to wonder about Zayn, when she’s the one getting ready to push a human out into the world soon.

“Uh, I’m… you know, I’m okay,” Zayn answers honestly.

“Have you talked to him?” she wonders, rubbing at her stomach absently.

Zayn shakes his head and looks down at his hands in his lap. Cheyenne puts a hand on his arm and squeezes reassuringly. He finds himself leaning closer to her, this stranger he’s only ever talked to a few times. But she has a presence to her, like she’s older than her age would suggest. Calming, sweet, her green eyes staring at him like she just wants to help.

“No,” Zayn admits. “We… no, we haven’t talked. We said some really awful shit when we ended it, so. I didn’t expect him to call.”

Cheyenne nods.

“He’s been away for a few weeks now,” she notes.

“Yeah.”

_Twenty three days, actually. Twenty three days and change. Twenty three days since I told Harry he’d never speak to Evelyn again. Twenty three days since I’ve seen my kid in the flesh. Twenty three long fucking days._

“Yeah,” Zayn answers. “A few weeks.”

Cheyenne doesn’t say anything for a full minute, the two of them sitting quietly in the stifling hot living room decorated like they’re in the American Southwest, weirdly enough. There’s even a cactus in the corner.

“He’s called me every single day,” Cheyenne says quietly.

Zayn’s head snaps up to stare at her with wide eyes. There’s no way that is possible.

“It’s true,” she says, reading his mind. “When we met at his apartment that day, when he told me he’d rather… you know, not be involved at all. He said he’d still like to call sometimes, to check in. And I said that would be alright, for now.”

Zayn blinks at her.

“I said once the baby got older, we might have to stop that. It could be confusing, you know. We’d switch to just letters and pictures every so often.”

“But…”

“So I thought he might call once or twice. Maybe I’d call him when I went into labor. I thought it’d be sporadic.”

“But he calls every day?”

Cheyenne smiles at him knowingly, and Zayn realizes if she tilts her head just so, he can see the echo of a dimple on her left cheek. She reaches for his hand then and places it on her belly. How all mothers-to-be know this move, Zayn will never understand. But she gets the look on her face, something far off and laced with concentration, as she starts moving his fingers around. She presses them into her skin, trying to find the sweet spot. Urging the baby to move around again, when called upon.

And then he feels it, the kick. A foot, an elbow, the baby’s head, maybe. Some body part shifting, pushing, insistent. Zayn can’t help but smile. He loves this part.

“Almost done cooking, but not yet,” Cheyenne says, still holding Zayn’s hand against her body. “I’m due in two days, but the doctor thinks it could be a few more than that. Figures.”

Zayn nods and stares at where his hand presses against her.

The baby kicks again. He has the phantom urge to lean down, to press his lips into her shirt, to say hello. He talked to Ev for weeks before she arrived.

“But to answer your question from before,” Cheyenne says with a tired exhale, letting his hand go, “he’s called every day. Sometimes more than once, actually.”

“Really?”

“He said he read a book in a bookstore, somewhere in South Carolina, that said babies can hear music. He asked if I had good headphones,” she says with a smile. “Like the ones he’s used to in the studio. He offered to send me some. Along with some ‘good, real’ music.”

Zayn can’t help but snort at that. Of course Harry the fucking music snob thought about the baby listening to music he deemed good enough. Zayn tried to get him to listen to his favorite music, in the car or from his iPod, but Harry refused. He’d cover his ears and yell about Paul Simon rolling over in his grave, “and he’s not even _dead_ yet, Zayn!”

Cheyenne smiles at him, the both of them probably remembering how fucking dumb Harry Styles can be.

“He asked if I was taking the vitamins they suggest. If it’s been hard to exercise. ‘The book says to try to walk even just for a few minutes a day, if you can.’ Leafy greens. Folic acid,” she nods.

Zayn stares at his hands and suddenly feels hot tears prickling at his eyes. He misses Harry so fucking much, he can barely see straight. He misses the way he remembered all the little things, the shit Zayn forgot to remember, when he needed Harry to write it down on his proverbial grocery list.

Harry always knew what to do, to take care of him.

“When I knew him last summer, he was… different than he is now. Loaded all the time, for one. There are parts of last August I doubt he can even remember. Even at the festival, for those three days, he was fucked up for most of it,” she admits.

Zayn doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t trust the strength of his voice, and he’d rather not sound like a child at the moment. He’s a grown man, damn it.

“He’s softer," Cheyenne continues. “More thoughtful. Attentive. He can be quiet if he needs to be. _Still_.”

Zayn nods.

“He’s better now.”

“Yeah, well. He left me, so,” Zayn shrugs, still unsure if he’ll ever be able to forgive Harry for that, for the things he said in that parking lot. He said over and over it was a life he didn’t want. Zayn was a dick for what he did at the end of the fight, but Harry started it. Harry got close, weaseled his way right in, and then ripped himself away.

Cheyenne isn’t convinced.

“He _thinks_ he left you.”

Zayn looks at her with questioning eyes.

“I don’t think that’ll last very long,” she admits, rubbing her belly.

He blinks.

“You think he’s coming back,” he says, like a statement instead of a question, finally understanding what she’s been trying to say since he walked in the door.

She just smiles.

“But… You’re like… but what if he doesn’t?” Zayn asks, suddenly turning his entire body towards her. “What if he doesn’t, though? What if he really is done with you? With… everything? He left, he’s gone, he… he left.”

His heart rate quickens the crazier he feels.

“He _left_. He looked me in the eye and said he was sorry, that he couldn’t be a father, couldn’t love me and my kid the way we need. He left. I hate him for that, I’m mad at him, he doesn’t deserve any of us.”

Cheyenne grabs his hand again, but not to feel the baby. Just to hold it. He lets her and holds her hand right back.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Zayn says, slightly hysterical. “Are you really okay with it? With your kid not having a dad? You’re alone. Your kid wouldn’t have… Or… what if he does come back, only to leave again when it gets hard? What if he leaves then? You’d be alone all over again.”

“I’m not alone, I’ll never be alone,” she levels him with a look. “I have a good family. My baby will have a good home, with or without Harry.”

Zayn blinks.

“Just because a child only has one parent, or divorced parents, or not-typical parents, doesn’t mean they’re doomed. Which is what I think Harry struggles with. But I’ll be fine. My baby will be fine,” she says, before looking at Zayn with a pointed expression, to pay attention, to think of his own family. “We’ll _all_ be fine.”

Zayn nods and sniffs, his nose suddenly running.

“But…” she shrugs.

“But?”

“Like I said, I don’t think he’s really gone.”

Zayn looks down at their hands. He’s probably sweating all over her palm, and his cheeks redden, embarrassed. But Cheyenne grips it harder, reading his mind again. How do women do that so easily? Is he really that easy?

She rubs her thumb along his hand, over his knuckles where he has Ev’s initials permanently tattooed into his skin.

“I haven’t known Harry for very long, and I know you may think this sounds like a load of shit… But I think the universe has ways of surprising us. I have faith that even in the midst of terrible, awful circumstances… the universe still has our best interests at heart. Maybe… maybe Harry had a shitty go of it with his own dad, and maybe that messed him up. But maybe everything happens for a reason.”

Zayn screws up his face, confused as to what the universe could gain out of Harry’s dad (and step-dads) leaving him over and over, heart broken and abandoned like he meant nothing.

But Cheyenne just shrugs, like she doesn’t understand it either.

“I think Harry always finds his way home, in the end,” she finishes, squeezing Zayn’s hand once more.

Zayn would refute that statement, until he remembers all those months ago in January, when all he wanted was to be home with Zayn for the ball drop. And then in February, when Harry scratched and clawed his way home to Zayn. He missed Valentine’s Day. He heard the tone in Zayn’s voice when Zayn said he didn’t care, that it was no big deal. Harry tried to stay out in the world, drinking without a care, celebrating a random night with strangers under flashing lights.

But he came home.

_Hi baby. Wanted to come home._

Even when they were in limbo, undeclared and uncertain in what they meant to each other, Harry always grocery shopped for Zayn’s apartment. For their apartment. He made Zayn a fake birthday cake because Ev asked him to. He wanted Zayn to feel good, in any way he could. Movies, trips to the park, the night in the snow, the museum. Harry ran off to work, to California, to random cities whenever he could. But he always came home to Zayn afterwards.

_I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you._

_I miss you all the time._

_I love Ev. I won’t be a mess in front of her. I’ll get my shit together._

Zayn looks at Cheyenne. Because Harry fucking loves him and loves Ev and maybe Harry doesn’t know it yet, but maybe he really will get his shit together. Eventually. Maybe the fact that he can’t stop calling the future mother of his child, worried over her folic acid and in-utero music choices, means something. Maybe he misses her, and their baby, and just doesn’t recognize it. Maybe Harry’s the smartest motherfucker Zayn’s ever met, but also the _dumbest_. And maybe even when Zayn hates Harry for the choices he’s made, he can’t hate him at all.

Cheyenne shrugs and exhales, making a face that says _I’m probably right, but whatever, ignore me, I’m tired and pregnant and babbling, probably just nesting and acting like a mother who is the boss of everyone._

Zayn smiles at her, completely delighted, at the silent conversation they’re having with their eyes.

“I have air conditioning,” Zayn says, moving away from her to leave. “If you need a cool place to relax, just let me know.”

“That is a very nice offer,” Cheyenne says, huffing and puffing her way up off the couch to show him out. He tries to protest, to tell her to sit back down, but she insists. She tugs at her shirt where it’s riding up and waddles with him towards the door. “But I’m good here. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine,” Zayn agrees with her, knowing with absolute certainty that she’s right. He’s never met someone so fine in his whole life, except for maybe Rachel when she was nine months pregnant and readying herself. It’s a sense of strength and fortitude no man can match, that’s for fucking sure.

Before he leaves, they stand at the door and stare at each other for a few more seconds.

_What if he doesn’t come back?_

_What if he does? You gonna do something about it?_

_I don’t know._

_Think it over._

Zayn smiles and grabs for his helmet and gloves. He heads towards his bike down on the street and waves over his shoulder one last time. Before he settles on his bike, he looks up to her with a set mouth. She gives him one final look and rolls her eyes.

_When I go into labor, I’ll call you._

Zayn laughs, a big booming laugh with his head thrown back, as he pulls his helmet on. Cheyenne can read his fucking mind and it’s sort of ridiculous.

The last image Cheyenne has of Zayn is of his back, as he peels away from the curb, still laughing under his helmet.

For the whole drive home, Zayn doesn’t need to ignore the world passing him by. He focuses, keeps his eyes ahead of course. But he appreciates the color of it all, the flashes of greens and reds, the cars full of parents and children, the endless blue sky above him.

Cheyenne is okay. Harry calls every day. Zayn is going to see Evelyn in the morning. And suddenly he feels a bit lighter.

 

***

 

Rachel is, understandably, still pretty pissed. So instead of Ev spending time at Zayn’s apartment, in a place where she wants and expects Harry Styles to be, for now Zayn has to go to her. It’s the new routine. For now.

Zayn drives his car to the house, and pulls up while smoothing his hair down. He knocks and then quickly shoves his hand in his pocket, when he realizes it’s shaking. He’s nervous. He has a plan for his conversation with Rachel. He needs to get it all out and stick to it.

The door swings open by some invisible force, Zayn is sure of it, until he looks down and realizes it’s Ev. Tiny, speck of a human, Evelyn. She squeals something not quite in English and leaps at him to hold her.

“Daddy!” she says, burying her face in his neck. Zayn has to close his eyes, he’s so fucking happy to have her close. He holds her in a tight embrace, his hand smoothing her hair a bit. He whispers hello a few times, how much he missed her, hopes she was a good girl while away.

_Baby Evelyn, little Evie, my baby, my Ev, Evelyn Naadirah Malik. Born almost six years ago on July 11 th just after sunrise, with a head of hair and a smile. Seven pounds, five ounces. 20.5 inches long. Mine mine mine._

“I was good, I promise,” Ev says, finally leaning back to look at his face. She’s tan from being in the sun for so many uninterrupted days, her hair even a little lighter on top. She’s in a sundress, some pretty pink thing Cecelia probably picked out for her. A bow near her left ear. And holy shit, she has her fucking ears pierced. He scoffs at the little red studs a bit, touching one with the tip of his finger. Well those are certainly new.

“Aren’t I so pretty now? I have earrings!” Ev says, wiggling in his arms, too happy to contain herself. “Mommy said I was big enough now!”

“You’re always pretty,” Rachel says, rounding the corner in her favorite jeans and a simple white t-shirt. Also tan. “With or without earrings. Remember?”

“I’m very pretty!” Evelyn yells, throwing her hands up in the air. Zayn has to hold her tighter so she doesn’t fall.

The three of them end up giggling, so Zayn tickles her to get her laughing even harder. Rachel watches as Zayn brings her into the living room. He sits on the couch and situates Ev so she’s on his lap comfortably. He expected her to do her thing, run off to play, or go get a toy to show him. But she stays put. She leans against his chest, pokes at his cheek, kisses him over and over. Zayn can’t complain, he can never complain when Ev is this happy. He missed her so fucking much. He tells her again, whispers it into her hair, as she snuggles into him.

Zayn suspects that when he says everything is worse when he’s not around Ev, it’s the same on her end as well. They work best when together.

Rachel watches from the other side of the couch, as she plays with the ends of her hair.

A few minutes later, Zayn whispers to Ev again. He asks if she has any new pictures for him, anything she drew while she was away on vacation. Her eyes light up and she says he has to close his eyes when she comes back. He promises he will. And then she almost trips as she launches herself up the stairs to her room, both of her parents calling after her to please not run in the house.

Rachel stands up and heads to the kitchen, probably expecting Zayn to wait on the couch for a bottle of water or whatever else she’ll offer. But Zayn follows right behind her, until they’re both in the tiled kitchen with its stainless steel appliances and banana-shaped cookie jar in the corner.

She turns around, to yell to him about a beverage, only to be surprised to see him so close.

Zayn reaches out and grabs for Rachel, pulling her into a firm, all encompassing hug. She startles, doesn’t know what to do, too tense in his arms, unsure. But she starts to hug him back, hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn mumbles into her shoulder, getting her perfume all over his shirt. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rach.”

“Zayn,” Rachel tries to respond.

But he steps closer and pulls her to hold onto him. It takes three more seconds, and then Rachel must understand. She gives in. She wraps both arms around Zayn’s torso, slotting together like they used to when they were younger. They haven’t touched like this in so long. They were friends once, before the hate and resentment settled in. They don’t always like each other, and maybe that will never completely go away. But they had to keep trying. They had to find common ground.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn repeats himself, his voice louder this time. “I don’t think I ever tell you when I’m sorry, after I’ve fucked something up. And I’ve fucked up a lot. I’m really, really sorry.”

His mind flashes to the parking lot, when he picked up his daughter and used her as a pawn in a fight with the man who may be the love of his fucking life. When he forced Ev to cry, when he made Rachel carry her away so Ev wouldn’t see him fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn repeats, closing his eyes.

“I know,” Rachel says, starting to cry. “I know.”

“I’m gonna be better now. I promise.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have Ev whenever you want me to have her. Whenever you say so. I won’t be an asshole, I won’t fight with you.”

Rachel nods into his shirt as he touches the back of her head, to keep her hair from going all over the place. She hates when her hair looks messy or frizzy. He keeps it so it cascades nicely down her back.

“I don’t want to keep her from you,” Rachel says, voice wet and wobbling. “I just don’t want her to be sad.”

“Me either.”

“She misses him,” Rachel says, still into his shirt. “She misses him and wants to talk to him.”

“I know,” Zayn says to soothe her.

“She should be able to call him, to adjust, if that’s what she needs. She didn’t need to be cut off from him, not… He was around all year, Zayn. That’s not fair for her. I hate that you let him in, but you did. You let him in, you know?”

“I know,” Zayn says, shaking his head a bit, knocking their temples together.

Just then, they hear her starting to enter the kitchen. She slides across the carpet in the hall, and then her bare feet slap away at the kitchen tile. Rachel steps away first, lets Zayn go, and wipes at her face. Zayn, a little misty himself, also tries to school his face.

Evelyn, in her dress and bow, stares at them with her mouth in a line. She has artwork in her hands, different colored papers and drawings, all for Zayn. But then she starts to bunch them up a bit, her little hands curling into fists like she can’t help it. She looks at them, angry, her cheeks reddening.

“ _Why_ are you _crying_ , mommy?” she says with a harsh stomp of her foot, upset.

Zayn and Rachel realize at the same time, that in her short five years of life, Ev has seen the people she loves crying way too fucking much. She’s watched her parents fight, wail, and verbalize their anger over and over. Her mom disappears into closets, her dad stomps around screaming when he can’t get his way, they shut themselves upstairs on Thanksgiving because they think she can’t hear. Last month she had to watch her Harry sniveling and snotting all over her, before he left forever.

She’s fucking sick of it, of the tears that seem to follow her around wherever she goes. She’s so mad, so upset, like a true Malik, with her hands in fists.

Rachel, fast as anything, grabs for Zayn’s hand and squeezes. And then they both step to their daughter, getting down on their knees to be at her eye level.

“Baby, it’s okay,” Rachel says, smiling so big.

Evelyn just stares at her.

“Sometimes,” Zayn says, reaching for Ev’s little arm, “when a person is so happy, and so excited, they cry happy tears. That’s all, we promise.”

Evelyn turns her head to stare at Zayn instead.

“We’re so happy,” Zayn says, smiling and biting his lip at the same time. “We love you so much and are so happy to have our little family. We’re the best family, aren’t we?”

“Sometimes we cry when we’re happy, Evie,” Rachel says in a calm voice, reaching for Ev’s other arm. “We love you. Do you love us?”

Evie looks at both of them, her features softening. She doesn’t say anything, still a little unsure on the concept of happy tears. She just sniffs a bit and holds up her hands, to offer her artwork. Zayn makes a big show of holding them, of flipping through each page, swearing she’s Picasso, Monet, a genius, an artist.

He says she should be a painter when she grows up and Ev wholeheartedly agrees. Rachel holds her face in her hands and kisses both of her cheeks, like the French do, before Zayn leans in to do the same.

They spend the rest of the day together, their little unit of three, playing in the living room. Evie tells Zayn he has to wear a hat with flowers all over it, because fancy tea parties require fancy hats, _duh_. Rachel makes sure to take a picture of him there on the floor. He stares at her with dead eyes, like he’s upset, and it’s the best picture he’s ever taken. Evie doesn’t understand why her parents laugh so hard at it, but she laughs too, flopping into Zayn’s lap and kicking him in the dick on accident.

Zayn needs to go before dinner. Or at least, that’s what Rachel says with her eyes. Evie needs to have a good dinner, and then relax a bit before bed. She gets too into Daddy Mode and thinks they can play for hours into the night, instead of her usual nightly routine. And as Zayn knows, routines are important.

He starts to gather himself, to grab his keys and a bottle of water for the road. But then it occurs to him. He makes the split decision, and is about to go pick Ev up, when he remembers. He can’t be so impulsive. So he whispers it to Rachel first, to get her opinion, to see if he should, and after a few seconds of stunned silence, she nods in agreement. She blinks a few times at him, and then nods again.

“Evie, come here,” Zayn says, calling to Ev still on the floor. She looks up at him and then quickly comes to settle in his lap on the couch.

She stares at him, as he tugs on her earlobe to inspect the rubies again. He can’t believe his kid is old enough to have her ears pierced.

“You know what I was thinking?” he asks her quietly.

“What?”

“Maybe we could call Harry,” he nods.

“Really?!” Evie squeals, clapping her hands. “I thought he was going away forever and ever!”

Rachel makes a noise to his left, but Zayn doesn’t need to see her face to know the intent behind it.

“He’s still working, baby. Still very far away. And might not be back for a very long time,” he nods, so she’ll nod with him. “And he might not answer, if he’s working. So if he doesn’t, we’ll leave him a message, okay?”

“Okay,” she says with a big smile, wigging in his lap like a little kitten.

Zayn reaches into his pocket for his phone and takes a breath. When he thinks of Harry now, after some time apart, he misses him like crazy. It’s still a bit unbelievable that Harry made the choices he made, but he’s getting better at accepting them. He’s coming to terms with it now, fucking finally, that for some people, life isn’t all sunshine and daisies. Life is a bunch of idiots, living their own shit, bumping into each other sometimes. He can’t change Harry or fix him. Harry is his own person, with his own dreams and shortcomings. Just how Rachel nudged Zayn here and there, but ultimately let him live his life as he wanted to, Zayn has to do the same for Harry.

He hits dial and takes another breath. He can’t decide if he wants Harry to pick up, or if it’d be better to leave a message. Both seem a bit terrifying.

Ev stares at him as it rings. And rings. And rings.

“Hey you’ve reached Harry,” so says the voicemail greeting. “I can’t pick up right now, so leave me a message and I’ll call you back when I can.”

Simple.

_Beep._

Zayn clears his throat and gives Ev a thumbs up.

“Uh, hey,” he starts, face twisting without his say so. “It’s me. Uh, Zayn. I know we sort of left things a bit… angry. But I have someone here who would like to say hi. I think she misses you a whole lot. And… I think she may need to call you, sometimes. If that’s alright. So…”

Evie smacks at his cheek impatiently. Zayn can’t help but laugh, as he holds the phone out to her. She grabs for it in her tiny hands and holds it up to her face, like she’s some kind of grown up or something.

“Harry!” she cries, smiling at Zayn. “Harry, it’s me! Evelyn Malik! You call me ‘toots’ sometimes because it’s another word for Evelyn. My birthday is soon. I’m gonna be six. And I got my ears pierced! My earrings are red!”

Ev wiggles again, and looks at Zayn, her breath catching like she knows she wants to say more, but forgot where she was going with it. Her attention span is adorable, honestly.

Zayn mouths the words to her and gestures to the phone.

“Oh! I want to say I miss you,” she says, just needing the nudge. “And I hope you are working good. I was at the beach and told my auntie that I’m gonna go crabbing someday with you on a big boat. I think that would be fun. I think I’m very fun.”

Rachel snorts from the end of the couch. Zayn bites his lip, smiling.

“I love you, Harry. You’re the best, and I can’t wait for you to come home,” Ev says, waving her hand a bit, proud of herself and very much finished. She hands the phone to Zayn with a flourish.

Zayn holds it and laughs again.

“Alright, so,” Zayn says to end it, “call us back. If you want. Bye.”

“Bye Harry!” Ev calls out to the phone. And then she jumps off of Zayn’s lap to get back on the floor with her toys right as he hangs up.

Kids are so fucking resilient. That’s the thought Zayn has as he shoves his phone back in his pocket and looks to Rachel. They nod at each other, happy with it. Ev was sad when Harry left, and she misses him now, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Maybe she won’t remember any of it going forward. Maybe this summer, when she thinks back on her life, is the one where she spent time with her mom’s family on the coast.

Rachel kisses Zayn on the cheek after Ev does, as he begins to walk out the door. They both know then and there, when it comes to Ev.

She’s going to be just fine, with or without Harry.

 

***

 

Six hours and thirty-nine minutes later, the buzzing of his phone by his face wakes Zayn up. He had forgotten to plug it into his charger across the room, and it’s just about dead as his eyes try to focus on the screen. He had fallen asleep ridiculously early after the day he had, first with Cheyenne and then with Rachel and Ev.

He shoves off the one thin blanket he has on his bed for the summer and blinks a thousand times to wake up.

“Hello?” he answers, voice hoarse.

“Zayn?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Daya Gilmore, Cheyenne’s mom,” the voice says to him calmly.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Zayn rushes out, rubbing at his face. He sits up fully and slaps at his tired cheeks. “Hello.”

“Looks like it’s time, love,” she says with a small laugh.

Zayn pulls the phone away from his face to look at the day and time. It’s just a little after midnight on the 19th. Technically a day early. And hadn’t Cheyenne’s doctor told her she had days yet to go, making the baby late?

“Oh,” Zayn says, brow furrowed. “Oh, okay. Well…”

He doesn’t know what to say, now that it’s happening. He appreciates the call and all, but he doesn’t know what to do with the information. He tried to call Harry earlier and got his voicemail. There’s no one else for him to alert or get ahold of. He supposes he could just wish their family well. Maybe he’ll call in a few days, to see if they need him to bring over like, a casserole or something. Flowers maybe?

“We’re heading to the hospital in a few minutes,” Daya says, probably moving around her house to collect Cheyenne’s Go Bag. “Contractions are right where they need to be. We’ve been timing them for _hours_ now. And she’s up to every five minutes now, lasting about thirty seconds.”

Holy shit, thirty seconds every five minutes is good. And if they waited to head to the hospital until the contractions came on strong, it means her water hasn’t officially broken yet. Zayn has so many questions, like if Cheyenne had any Braxton Hicks contractions earlier, maybe even when he was at the duplex with her. Are her contractions strong? Can she talk through them? Is she bleeding at all?

Zayn shakes his head, because he’s a fucking idiot. Not his business, not the time or place.

“Okay, well,” he says again, still groggy. “Tell Cheyenne that… I hope everything goes well. She seems tough, so. I’m sure she’ll be just… fine.”

He winces. _Of course she’ll be fine, don’t tell her mother she’ll be fine, shut the fuck up. Hang up the phone._

“I think she’d like you to be there,” Daya says, still moving through her house. “We, uh… I called Harry and left him a message. And I’m about to call a few of her other friends, my sister, probably our neighbor who she’s close with. Might be a little party in the waiting room, while we wait for the baby to arrive. You should come.”

“Oh.”

“If you want.”

“Uh,” Zayn says, scratching his eyebrow, unsure. But then he remembers that Harry won’t be there, and how much of a fucking shame that is. He’s nodding before he begins to speak again. “Yeah, I’ll come now. I can meet you there. Do you need anything? Anything I can bring?”

“Just yourself,” she says with a small chuckle. Zayn frowns. How the hell is she so calm? _Come on Daya, have a sense of urgency. The baby is coming. No laughing at a time like this. Take the Go Bag and get Cheyenne in the car._

Zayn breathes deeply a few times to calm down. He becomes incessantly bossy when he feels a situation spiraling out of control. He’s working on that.

Daya ends up telling him where to go, once he arrives at the Walter Reed Med Center. Zayn should probably write it down, but he’s too busy trying to walk around his disgustingly messy bedroom, searching for something to wear.

He’s not sure how this is really happening, as he finds himself speeding towards the hospital not even three minutes later. Harry Styles’ child is about to be born, in like ten hours, give or take, but it’s happening.

And Cheyenne wants Zayn to be there.

He shakes his head, completely perplexed at the universe once again, and goes only a few miles over the speed limit.

 

***

 

They don’t tell you how boring labor can be. That’s Zayn continuous thought, as he sits in the waiting room at Walter Reed, with a disgusting cup of coffee at four in the morning.

Apparently Zayn was the first of the “party” to arrive at the hospital. Daya tasked him with getting everyone congregated until she could leave Cheyenne on her own. Zayn agreed, flustered at being made useful, and said a quick hello to Cheyenne before they wheeled her away. He even held her hand for a second, and then she was off to be admitted and checked up on. He hasn’t seen her since.

He’s exhausted and hungry, and nothing has even happened yet. A few of Cheyenne’s friends from school try to talk to him, but he’s too nervous to pay attention much. They give up after awhile, to leave him alone with his coffee.

He twirls the cup in his hand, as the clock hits ten after four. And then out of nowhere, he thinks about the day Ev was born and he ends up smiling to himself.

TV shows and movies have made us all think that labor is this crazy intense, fast thing that begins when the water breaks. In the movie “Riding in Cars with Boys,” Drew Barrymore’s character yells out to her mother from her bathroom when a splash of water hitting the floor sounds out. The camera pans down to show her standing in a literal puddle, as she nervously asks what’s happening to her. _That_ was Zayn’s long-lasting impression of what happens when a baby announces itself as ready to be born. The water breaks, and maybe twenty minutes later, a completely clean, twelve pound baby blinks up at its parents, not a tear in sight.

Not at all true. All bullshit.

Rachel’s water didn’t break, so much as it _trickled_. One second she was standing in the garage reaching for a broom and then the next she was complaining that she’d peed herself _again_ , as that is wont to happen sometimes towards the end. She called out to Zayn, who was on the other side of the car trying to find a dustpan somewhere, to please go get her another pair of underwear and shorts. She rolled her eyes at her stupid bladder and Zayn actually chuckled.

When he returned with said items, she gave him a look. A long, weird, side-eye type look. Like something wasn’t right. Zayn’s eyes went wide as they both looked down and realized that Rachel was leaking. Like, literally leaking clear fluid down one leg onto the concrete garage floor.

Zayn genuinely almost passed out.

He ran around the house, the one thing that is like in the fucking movies, to make sure he had Rachel’s bag, phone, wallet, and keys. They made a mix for Zayn’s iPod, something to listen to while they sat in the hospital, but Zayn had made sure it was in the car weeks before. Why Zayn had the music in the car, but not the rest of their belongings still baffles him to this very day.

Before Zayn could get her in the car, Rachel asked for a towel to be laid down on the seat, because as she said, the leather was “too nice for amniotic fluid to get all over it.”

Zayn genuinely almost passed out a second time.

And then they got to the hospital ten minutes later, telling the nurses how Rachel’s water had already broken. Then they were shuffled into a room where they hooked her up to machines. Her contractions came in waves, not as strong here and there, and then fucking _blinding_ with how bad they were. A strange doctor felt her up, to check her dilation. Zayn looked into Rachel’s eyes so he wouldn’t look down at someone else’s _entire hand_ disappearing inside his wife.

It took hours. Hours upon hours, Rachel practically in and out of consciousness it hurt so bad. Her doctor finally arrived, ready to get a move on, and Zayn had never been happier to see that old man who first pointed to their sonograms. Their birth plan included having an epidural, but as Rachel dilated further, her doctor advised against it. She was too close to the end, to the baby being born, it wasn’t safe. Rachel cried, outright sobbed when she found out.

Hours upon hours, of sitting around, trying to rest in between contractions, comforting Rachel when she had a moment of panic.

Ice chips, lowering the lights at random intervals to see if it would help her relax, calling family members out of state, greeting their parents with tears in their eyes. Rach couldn’t say much before and during an especially bad contraction, but Zayn could tell when it was about to hit. He’d be up and at her side in no time, holding her hand, letting her get all of her pain and frustration out the only way she knew how: by shoving it at Zayn as if he could hold it for her.

But then someone announced she was fully dilated and they wheeled her off to the delivery room. They told Rachel that it was time, to start pushing, that she could do it.

A nurse whispered to Zayn as she pulled a blue scrub top over his t-shirt, that he had to be strong. He needed to be there, to tell Rachel the most important thing a dad can say during labor: that she could do it. He had to tell her she could do anything. They needed to meet their girl.

So he tried his best.

He had promised her he wouldn’t look down to actually watch the big event, lest he faint, so he kept up by her head. Kept close.

Rachel pushed and pushed, as the whole room of people encouraged her over and over. Zayn whispered it in her ear, against her temple, right in front of her face whenever she lost focus. He’d touch her chin and make her look at him, _look at me Rach, you can do this, you can do this, we need to meet our girl, right?_

He would blink and nod his head, so she’d follow along.

Rachel could do it.

And then there she was.

Zayn will never fucking forget it. He had Rachel’s left hand between both of his, as she squeezed tight. She wailed that she couldn’t do it anymore, that it was too much, she was going to fail. Zayn told her to keep pushing, to keep going. The doctor yelled out that she just needed one more. One more push. It was like that was all Rachel needed to hear, that it was almost over. Suddenly she was very calm, her entire face made of stone. She squeezed Zayn’s hand on her left and a nurse’s hand on her right, and then that was it.

The doctor placed Ev right up onto Rachel’s chest, in all of her disgusting, gooey glory. In the span of about ten seconds, a brand new human being was born. She was there. She cried, squawked like a feeble little baby bird, as Rachel cried too.

Zayn doesn’t remember crying. Or maybe he does. He’s not sure. Maybe he cried continuously for the entire experience and he just never realized it.

It was all a blur once Evelyn was a real person, and no longer a far off figment of their imagination in Their Future. People rushed around them, to finish up with Rach, to make sure both mom and baby were okay. Zayn remembers worrying over Ev’s lungs. She was crying, but he hoped it was loud enough. The books said a baby needed to cry pretty hard, to get the fluid out of the lungs.

They let him cut the cord. It was absolutely disgusting, but it felt like the thing all dads aspire to do. So Zayn smiled through it. He held Rachel’s hand and they watched silently as they cleaned her off and wrapped her in a blanket. They placed her in Rachel’s arms and all Zayn could do was stare down at her. She refused to open her eyes at first, her skin pink and wrinkled. She had a full head of hair. The shape of her mouth was just like Rach’s. They unwrapped the top of the blanket a little bit, to look at all the little parts of her: her neck, her chest, the gross end of the umbilical cord. Once her arms were free, she kept curling and uncurling her fingers, like she was getting used to moving around in an open, uncramped space.

They finished up whatever they needed to do to Rachel, as they watched their baby. It was truly awe inspiring, to see Evelyn Naadirah Malik open her eyes and squirm at all the commotion happening around her. She made this sound, this little _coo_ that Zayn honestly couldn’t believe was real.

Rachel had to lay her head back at one point, like she was too exhausted to hold it up. So Zayn took that as his sign, to hold Ev for the first time on his own. He took her in his hands, awkwardly held her in front of him and simply stared at her. She was his. Theirs. Part of them both. Real, healthy, perfect.

She looked back at him, for a few seconds. He figured it wouldn’t last long, that she would need to shut her eyes again and sleep the day off. Just like her mom, she fucking deserved it. It must be tiring to be born.

But then she blinked a few times, face scrunched and annoyed at the bright light over his head. And before she shut her eyes, Zayn swears on his fucking life that she smiled. Just a small one, maybe a little curl to her lip, but a smile. No one believed him. But he knows what he saw.

As Zayn shifts his weight there in the waiting room and shoves his coffee away, he can’t help but frown. It was such a momentous occasion in his life. The birth of your first child is something you can never anticipate or prepare for. It’s happening before you can comprehend the weight of it. You’re holding your child before you can wonder if you’ll be good at it.

Harry should be here. He should fucking _be here_ , holding Cheyenne’s hand, cutting the chord, putting his nose and mouth against his baby’s head to whisper _hello you, I’m so happy you’re finally here._ He should be screaming from the top of his lungs that his baby is healthy, announcing it to the room like Zayn did with his own family.

Right as Zayn’s emotions dip from annoyed ambivalence because of Harry’s absence, to outright anger, he looks up. Daya motions for him to come to the door leading into the labor and delivery hall. She whispers that Cheyenne wants to see him.

He forgets to be angry and stumbles after her, his feet a jumbled mess. He’s sincerely glad he’s not still holding coffee, otherwise it’d be all over his sweatshirt. He sits down in the chair besides Cheyenne in the hospital bed and tries to smile at her. Her long, crazy hair is in a massive bun haphazardly on the top of her head. She smiles at him, not in the middle of a contraction while he’s there, thankfully.

It’s almost time, though. And they all know it.

He takes notice of the ice she’s chewing. He smiles at that, too. Because the world is a constantly changing, evolving, moving sphere of rock, thrusting through space at a million miles an hour. But it’s nice to see some things, no matter what, never change: ice chips. All they give women in labor is ice chips. Must suck, honestly.

Cheyenne sets her cup of ice on the table near Zayn and sighs.

“I called him, I swear,” she ends up saying, laying her head back on the mattress. “I tried.”

Zayn’s heart breaks in his chest, into a thousand pieces. As strong and tough as she is, he knows: it still would’ve been nice to have Harry here with her. The slight tremble to her bottom lip says as much.

“I know, babe,” Zayn whispers, reaching to grip her hand.

“I just wanted you to know, that I still think he’ll come back. I really do. I think he’ll realize what he wants, or maybe… like, maybe he’ll realize what he _needs_. He’ll want to be around, eventually,” she says, gesturing to her stomach. “And I really think he loves you.”

Zayn nods. She shouldn’t be focusing on Zayn or his stupid, pathetic happiness at the moment. But he understands this kind of thing pretty well: don’t tell a woman in active labor how or what to feel. If this is what Cheyenne needs to focus on, he’ll let her.

“Thanks,” he says with a small smile, then looking to her stomach. “I can’t wait to meet this one.”

Cheyenne places a hand there and mumbles how she wishes it didn’t have to hurt so bad, and preferably not accompanied by her shitting herself. That has Zayn laughing. Cheyenne is funny in a self-deprecating kind of way.

“Can you go tell Mel and Lindsey to come in next?” she says, half to Zayn and half to her mother, whoever wants to take on the task.

Zayn kisses her forehead and wishes her well, exiting the room with Daya. She goes off to bring more people to Cheyenne, before the big moment happens. It’s nearing seven o’clock in the morning, Zayn realizes, as he looks at his phone. Adding in the time Cheyenne spent in pre-labor at home, she’s been at it for a long fucking time.

He sends a quick text to Rachel, for her to read when she wakes up with Ev in a few hours. Tells her where he is, what’s going on, why he won’t answer if she tries to call at a certain point. He could be in the throws of celebrating, after all. He promised Daya that he’d go buy a bunch of cigars from the gift shop, blue for a boy, pink for a girl, for Cheyenne’s little party once the baby arrives.

He leans against the off-white hospital wall and sighs.

And then he thinks _fuck this_ , and reaches for his phone again.

He dials Harry’s number, and paces. Zayn is good at pacing, his high tops squeaking on the floor as nurses and various doctors maneuver around him. He can pace here all fucking day if he has to. He should win awards for it.

“Hey you’ve reached Harry,” so says the same voicemail greeting. “I can’t pick up right now, so leave me a message and I’ll call you back when I can.”

Still simple.

_Beep._

“Hey,” Zayn says, putting a hand on his hip, determined. “It’s me. Again. So. I’m at the hospital. Cheyenne’s in labor, which I fucking hope you know by now. They left you a message hours ago. And just… Fuck… Okay, here it goes. Harry, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can’t predict any of it. I can’t tell you if you’ll be a good dad. And I know we’re over, which sucks, and I still blame you for it. But you need to hear me say this. You _need_ to take my advice. If you miss the birth of your child, it’ll be the biggest fucking regret of your life. Okay? You’ll never forgive yourself. Do you understand? See, I – I’m not like Rach, I’m not good at any of it. I need a lot of fucking help. I have to try really fucking hard _not_ to fuck up. I don’t know anything. But I know this. I know the important shit. And this is important. You need to be here. The universe – it doesn’t give us any more than what we can handle. And even – even in the midst of terrible, awful circumstances… the universe still has our best interests at heart. Everything happens for a reason.”

Zayn’s almost out of breath, he says it all so fast. Using Cheyenne’s words to him seemed like a good idea to use on Harry, until it comes out all jumbled and stupid sounding. He’s losing precious time as he pauses, unsure of how much the phone company will allow in a single message. He can’t have this last bit cut off.

“Harry, look,” he starts up again, pressing at the space between his eyebrows. “you had a shitty dad. You had a shitty childhood. And I know that sucks. But maybe you having a shitty dad will make you the _best_ dad, you know? Maybe that’s the reason for all of it. And maybe we met because you needed to help me realize how to be better, to try, to put the effort in. Maybe we met because I needed to be the one to leave you this stupid as fuck, long fucking message on your voicemail because you’re a _fucking jack ass_ who left in the first place.”

Now he’s just rambling there in a hallway in the hospital, with a few nurses eyeing him suspiciously. He tries to lower his voice again.

“I don’t know what else to say. That’s… that’s all I got, I guess. That’s the speech, the new speech. I hope you hear this, I hope it makes something click. I…”

Zayn stops and sighs, upset with himself.

“I hope you come home,” he whispers, tacking it on to the very end. And then, “Okay, bye.”

He presses the button to end the call and exhales. He leans down to rest his hands on his knees, to close his eyes and breathe. He realizes that Cheyenne is on the other side of her hospital door probably doing the same breathing exercises. That was another takeaway of the labor experience as whole. Zayn can’t help but smile to himself, as he heads back towards the waiting room. “When in doubt, try to breathe through it.”

God, Zayn is such a fucking dad. A true loser, honestly.

If it were a little later in the morning, he’d probably call Ev then, just because.

And then right as Zayn pushes at the door and steps back into the waiting room, a commotion stops him dead in his tracks. Boots squeaking, orderlies yelling, a mad man trying to break down doors to get through them at the other end of the hospital floor.

Zayn won’t quite believe it, not until he has visual evidence. He narrows his eyes and waits, his hand on the door leading back towards Cheyenne.

Sure enough, a door bursts open across from him. It almost flies clean off the hinges. And then there he is, Harry Styles with his hair flying wildly around his face, in an old pair of shitty black jeans and a royal blue t-shirt. Two men try to calm him down, one reaching for his arm, the other telling him to leave.

Harry ignores them both, a hand in his hair, his other hand gripping his phone, eyes searching wildly for something or someone he knows. Their eyes lock right as Harry opens his mouth, probably to yell an obscenity at the men being in his way.

“Hey,” he practically cries, running towards Zayn. “Hey, hi. Did I miss it? Did I miss it?”

He’s hysterical, can barely string two words together, his face as white as a plane of fresh fallen snow. He reaches for Zayn with shaking fingers and scrambles for his forearms, a wrist, his hand, something.

“He’s okay,” Zayn says to the men hot on Harry’s tail. “He’s good. He’s with us.”

They eye the situation warily, and then begin whispering to each other. Zayn’s pretty sure they’re not convinced and calling security, but they thankfully walk away. Harry sniffs and looks around the room full of strangers.

“Did I miss it?” Harry repeats himself, eyes drifting over Zayn’s shoulder down the hallway.

“Harry, settle down, lower your voice,” Zayn tries, grabbing for Harry. “You didn’t miss it, breathe. Breathe, babe.”

Harry tries, he really tries. He exhales a breath from big, puffed up cheeks like he does during yoga sessions. He tries to straighten his back, to crack it and realign himself. But he doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hand and arm.

“You’re here,” Zayn can’t help but mumble, taking the man in front of him in for himself. It’s a selfish thing then, to be grateful and thankful to the universe for bringing Harry back to this place. It’s a delicious feeling, to have Harry so near, to smell his shampoo, the way he has a few spots on his forehead and cheek, the dip of his mouth when he’s breathing deeply.

“Yeah, I…” Harry says, blinking a few times, finally looking to Zayn’s face, his wide eyes, his scruffy jaw. “I couldn’t miss it. I… I couldn’t miss it.”

Zayn nods, smiling. He can be selfish for a few seconds, but not any more than that. Harry has important business to attend to. It’s a big day.

Zayn pulls at his hand and leads him down the hallway towards Cheyenne’s room. He stops a nurse from going in and explains that the baby’s father has finally arrived. The woman greets him warmly and promises to bring him a pair of scrubs. Because it’s “almost time.”

Harry nods at her, dumbly. Silently. Still white as all hell.

Zayn should push Harry into the room. He should give him a few words of encouragement and send him on his way. But before he can, he just… he takes a few more selfish seconds. He reaches for Harry and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, to put everything he can into it. They probably won’t see each other for a few hours, and who knows what Harry’s brain could come up with in that time.

“I’m proud of you,” Zayn can’t help but whisper. “I’m so fucking proud of you for coming back for this. You’ll be great.”

Harry hugs him back, his face in Zayn’s hair. He keeps him close for those few seconds, and then his body stills completely in Zayn’s arms. He leans back with a stricken look on his face and shakes his head.

“No,” Harry says, “ no, no, no.”

Zayn frowns, as he steps back. But Harry holds his hand, he won’t let go.

“No, I need to tell you first,” Harry says, his face set and sure.

The nurse returns right then with the blue scrubs and tells Harry she’ll leave them inside. She awkwardly maneuvers around them in front of the door, and then she disappears. Harry needs to get in there. Cheyenne must be fully dilated, almost ready to be wheeled to the delivery room. It’s almost time.

“Harry,” Zayn starts to say, gesturing to the room.

“I got your message,” Harry blurts out.

“What?”

“And – I read baby books on the road, because you said you read them,” he says quickly. “And I always do what you say.”

Zayn stares at him, not sure how that relates to the message he and Ev left together. Harry barrels on.

“So I read the books and I would call Cheyenne to tell her things I found interesting. And then I’d call her again, to ask how she was feeling. I wondered if she felt sick, or if she needed her feet rubbed. I… I hate feet, but I thought about her feet a lot.”

Harry is an idiot. A considerate idiot, deep down.

“And one of the guys in my backing band in Charleston, we had a long session and we got it catered. He had a dessert with this walnut crumble on top, and I almost smacked it right out of his hand. Because I was so used to it, right? No walnuts, hazelnuts, cashews, pistachios, not in the house,” he says, sniffing a bit.

Zayn blinks at him, at a loss.

“I… I listened to your message from yesterday, from you and Ev. I fucking… I was in the studio when you called, I was so out of my head, I wasn’t checking my phone. And then… when I finally looked and listened to it, it was so late, so I couldn’t call you back.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Zayn,” Harry levels him with a look, “I love you. I love you, I fucked up, and I miss you. I miss both of you.”

Zayn squeezes his hand and smiles shyly, unable to stop either reaction.

“Ev said she couldn’t wait for me to come home,” Harry says, chin shaking. “She just said it like it was nothing, like… like I _had_ to come home, right? Like _of course_ I’d come home, and she’d see me soon.”

Zayn’s chin shakes then, too.

“And it’s like… she never doubted you, Zayn. Never thought you were bad at being her father, or inadequate, or a disappointment. She only saw what I saw, which was you, being so fucking good to her. You’re the best,” Harry says, almost in disbelief.

Zayn’s being selfish again. Harry needs to go. He nudges Harry’s hip. But Harry won’t budge, not yet. He steps closer, right into Zayn’s space.

“She never doubted me either. She never saw me as a fuck up. She wanted me around. She doesn’t think I’m a shitty person, or inadequate, or a disappointment. And if she can still love me, after what I did to her, and you, that means something. She wanted me to come home, so I did. By the time I listened to the end of the message, I had already decided to come home. And by the time I stepped off my flight when it landed at Dulles an hour ago, ready to come home to the apartment, I heard Cheyenne’s message. And… you’re here,” Harry finishes, smiling.

Zayn has to lean his head against Harry’s chest then, to exhale the breath held in his lungs. He’s suddenly exhausted, his entire body in shambles. He needs to sit down. He needs a cigarette. Harry came home, first and foremost, because he heard Evelyn’s voice.

Harry pulls his face up and grips it between his palms.

“I’ll _always_ come home,” Harry promises. “I swear. I love you and Ev and I love our little life. I was stupid and irresponsible, and I never should’ve left. Rach was right, because I’m beginning to suspect she’s always right. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve made it official and told you from that first fucking kiss that I wanted you. Because I did, and I should’ve trusted myself more. I’m – I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Zayn can’t help but mutter.

Harry smiles at him warmly.

“I’m sorry for the things I said, too,” Zayn says, needing to get it out, his cheeks hot. “I wanted to hurt you that night and I ended up hurting Ev. And then I think we all got hurt.”

Harry shakes his head, like he wants to forget the entire night. Like it’s a whole other lifetime ago. Like it wasn’t them at all.

“We’re here,” Harry says with a sure nod.

“Good.”

“Good, yeah?” Harry mutters back, their lips an inch apart.

“Did you listen to my second message, then? The one I just left?”

“Heard it as I pulled into the parking garage,” Harry admits, his hands jostling Zayn’s face a bit. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

“Which is probably _your_ fault,” Zayn says, almost kneeing him in the nuts. “ _You_ made me this way. I look forward to Valentine’s Day, and roses, and being your fucking boyfriend for weeks on end.”

Harry smiles at him then, like Zayn’s the sweetest thing he’s ever gotten to taste.

“Well if that was my fault, then this is your fault,” Harry says, gesturing to the door he needs to step behind at any moment.

Zayn doesn’t understand, his eyebrows turn upwards in their confusion.

“The being a father part,” Harry says, his eyes wet once more. He runs his thumbs over Zayn’s cheekbones. “I never had one, so… thanks for showing me how.”

Zayn surges forward and kisses Harry, finally. Jesus, it seems like all Zayn does these days is _talk_ about shit. He wants to do something then, so he does. He holds Harry by the hips, as Harry holds his face, and they kiss like teenagers on the other side of Cheyenne’s hospital room door.

Cheyenne.

“Fucking hell, get off me,” Zayn pretends to hiss. “Don’t you have a baby trying to be born?”

Harry laughs, but lets Zayn go. He steps back and squares his shoulders. He schools his face to be serious. It’s time he face his new life. It’s time he do the one thing he should’ve done weeks ago: go accept the responsibility, tell Cheyenne he’s there, be the one to hold her hand when it hurts.

“Any advice?” Harry can’t help but say with a wince, hand on the door handle.

Zayn thinks for a moment, before nodding his head.

“She’s gonna be really scared. And at one point, she’ll tell you she can’t do it. Make sure to tell her she can.”

“Okay.”

“Never let go of her hand. Do _not_ look down, unless she says you’re allowed to. Uh… if the baby’s head looks a bit pointy, that’s normal. It goes away.”

Harry’s eyes widen a bit, but he nods like he understands.

“She’s about to run ten fucking marathons in a row. She needs you,” Zayn says very seriously.

“Okay,” Harry nods a final time, ready.

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, pushing him at the door.

Harry gives Zayn one final look of gratitude, his eyes so green and wide, Zayn is reminded of a frog. A big, stupid frog about to pass on his big, stupid eyes to his offspring.

Zayn shakes his head and smiles to himself. He heads back to the waiting room, to wait it out with the rest of Cheyenne’s little family, the family she’s built for herself from scratch. He explains to a few of the girls wondering, that Harry is with Cheyenne now. Finally. They all seem relieved.

As he slumps in the same chair he occupied earlier, he remembers coffee fondly. How nice it would be to have some. But that would require him to get up and move again, which is not happening for a very long time, so he rests his head against the wall. He stares at the ceiling and can’t quite believe it. Harry’s here. He didn’t miss it. He stepped up to the fucking plate and is here.

Zayn smiles to himself and reaches for his phone. It’s still early, and Rachel will probably want to kill him at first for waking her up. But he needs to talk to the mother of his child, especially now, especially today.

They need to have another nice, long chat.

There are important things to discuss.

 

***

 

Sixteen minutes past ten, on the morning of June 19th, a brand new human being is born at the Walter Reed Med Center in Bethesda, Maryland. Zayn and Cheyenne’s little group stand huddled together, as close to the labor and delivery hallway door as fire codes will allow. Daya had popped her head out not long before, saying they were at the final pushes. To be ready.

Zayn paces, wringing his hands.

And then eventually, he looks up. Harry and Daya walk out of the door together, in their blue scrubs. Harry’s eyes find Zayn, and they stare at each other as Harry pulls at his hair. His face is red, he’s a fucking mess, crying all over himself. Zayn knows the feeling well.

Harry points over his shoulder, his hand shaking, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He looks like a dying fish, flopping around on a boat deck with zero clue as to where he is.

Daya nudges his arm.

“It’s a girl,” Harry says, his voice clear, but also like he can’t quite believe it.

The whole room erupts in cheers and crying, as Cheyenne’s friends and family rush to hug each other. Even strangers walking through the room to head off to other parts of the hospital, stop to watch. A baby being born, even one you don’t know, is always something to clap for and celebrate. A few gruff men, with hard hats and work boots, even reach out to shake Harry’s hand one after the other. Harry, overwhelmed and crazed, just nods and smiles like he can’t believe it.

Daya is enveloped in a hug by both her sister and neighbor, Cheyenne’s friends for years congratulate Harry the stranger they’ve never met before, before pulling out their phones to start alerting friends in far off places.

Zayn waits his turn. And then he steps to Harry and pulls him into another hug. They don’t say anything. They don’t really have to. When they pull back, they have a whole conversation with just their eyes.

_Congratulations._

_Thanks._

_Did you cry?_

_Like a fucking baby._

_And now you wanna go back and check on her, don’t you. On both of them?_

_Like you wouldn’t believe._

_Get going then._

With a smirk on his face, Zayn pushes Harry back towards the door from which he came. But at the last second, and because he is an absolute moron, Harry gives Zayn one kiss to the mouth. And then he’s gone, his boots clicking obnoxiously on the tiled floor until Zayn can’t hear him anymore.

Zayn presses his fingers to his mouth as he heads off to find the gift shop. He hopes it’s open this early in the day.

He has a few handfuls of pink cigars to buy, after all.

 

***

 

A few hours later, they send for him. Zayn’s had about six more cups of shitty coffee, so he feels unbelievably strung out. His hair is disgusting, his sweatshirt even more so, and he can’t believe he has to subject people to his scent at the moment.

But he can’t leave the hospital, not any time soon. He has to be there in case Harry has a momentary freak out. Zayn would like to give him the benefit of the doubt, but… given his track record, Zayn doesn’t want to leave it up to chance.

He just prays his deodorant really does last a full twenty-four hours as advertised.

He gets to the door and pushes at it slightly, peeking his head in. He notes right away that Cheyenne is asleep. Which is good, because she’ll need it. She’s on her side facing the door, a hand tucked under her cheek, hair even wilder than usual. And then over by the window, Harry stands with his daughter.

It’s a beautiful sight, Harry silhouetted in the afternoon sunlight, looking down at the baby in his arms. No longer in scrubs, the blue of his shirt stands out most of all, Zayn so used to him in blacks and whites for days on end. It brightens him somehow.

He holds her like a natural, like he’s been doing it for years. Zayn knows for a fact he himself looked like an idiot when he held Ev for the first time. He didn’t drop her of course, but it felt like he could’ve. There’s no worry on Harry’s face, though. No apprehension. He’s textbook, now: a man so fucking nervous to be a dad that he ran from it, only to come around and never question it again. Because Zayn knows as he looks on, that Harry Styles will never be over it. He’s on the birth certificate. No worries. No fear.

He’s all in.

Zayn gets closer and rests a hand on Harry’s lower back. He looks down at her, swaddled in the white blanket, wearing a little pink hat, fast asleep. Beautiful, perfect, serene, a squished little replica of Harry.

“Hey daddy,” Zayn whispers, his voice light.

“Hey,” Harry says to him, turning his head slightly, but not quite looking away from her.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Cheyenne good?”

“She’s tired,” Harry whispers, finally looking up. He chances half a second, to look at Cheyenne, before he’s right back to the baby. “But she’s good. She did great.”

Zayn looks back at Cheyenne then too, to the back of her resting form. It’s amazing what she did. A miracle.

“Like a fucking super hero, right?”

“Seriously,” Harry nods like he can’t quite fathom it. “It was insane.”

Zayn snorts a bit, quietly.

“We’re all good,” Harry whispers, leaning down to kiss the baby’s forehead.

“That’s good,” Zayn smiles, reaching a hand up. He runs the back of his finger across her delicate cheek. “Look at you.”

“You wanna hold her?”

“Yeah,” Zayn scoffs, because of course he does. He reaches for her and does that magic trick Rachel always maneuvered so well: the weird dance to get a baby from one set of arms to another, without waking her up.

She goes easily, rests in the crook of his left arm. It’s like stepping back in time, when all he wanted was Ev right there in the sweet spot.

“Hey little pumpkin,” Zayn whispers to her, this perfect thing that only needed forty short weeks to come to be. “Hi Produce Baby. Happy birthday.”

Zayn coos a bit, takes a few steps around on the tiled hospital floor. Sometimes it’s not enough just to rock a newborn from side to side or up and down. It’s like they _know_ movement, forward momentum, a calorie-burning walk around the room. Or the entire neighborhood, as Ev sometimes required around three weeks old.

“What’s your name?” he asks her, running his finger down her cheek again. “What are they gonna call you? Something good?”

“Hannah,” Harry say quietly somewhere over his shoulder.

Zayn nods down at her, walking in a circle.

“Oh, that’s _good_ ,” he says to her, completely impressed. “Your momma’s a smart woman, isn’t she. That’s a great name. You’re Hannah, aren’t you.”

Zayn brings her up, to kiss both cheeks with gentle lips and smell her a bit. He can’t wake her up, but he has to kiss her. It’s only right, to kiss babies a few hundred times when they’re sleeping. In all honesty, it’s like they’re fucking asking for it. When they’re screaming because they’re hungry, or screaming because they’re tired, or screaming because they must love the sound of it, it’s hard to get a good kiss in.

A minute later, Zayn settles back near Harry at the window. He bounces on his feet a little, lulling her some more, before he looks up. Harry’s staring at him. And like a fucking sap, like a brand-new-for-only-a-few-hours father, he’s crying. Full on water works, tears dripping down to his chin. Harry should probably get used to it, because there were days in the very beginning when Zayn and Rachel would burst into tears, together, and stand over Ev’s crib to stare at her. For hours.

Harry sniffs and tries to compose himself. He uses his shirt to wipe his nose. He takes a few breaths and Zayn watches little Hannah sleep soundly in his arms. He feels Harry kiss at his temple.

“So that’s what this is like,” Harry says, eventually reaching an arm out to wrap it around Zayn’s waist.

“What?”

“Seeing the person you love holding your kid,” Harry says quietly.

Zayn _almost_ rolls his eyes. But he can’t, because even just thinking about seeing Harry with Ev right now is enough to bring him to his knees to pray.

Harry allows Zayn exactly three more minutes of holding her, and then he wants her back. They do the swap again, just as smoothly, which is impressive. Harry takes her and follows along with what Zayn did before, to walk her around the room. Zayn doesn’t know everything, but he knows a few things. And Harry has always been smart enough to follow along and take Zayn’s lead.

Maybe Zayn is a good teacher after all. Maybe he should tell Rachel she did good with him, because he owes it all to her.

Zayn sits on the chair next to Cheyenne’s bed, the one he held her hand in hours ago when they both thought Harry would miss this. He watches Harry whisper to his daughter, secret things, probably about keeping her safe, wishing her a happy life, promising to watch over her. And Zayn really does pray then, a small one.

The universe and its surprises, man.

Who knew.

 

***

 

Zayn finally goes home to shower and change. He uses the key to Harry’s apartment and steps inside for the first time in weeks. It smells the same, albeit a little stale. He throws open the curtains and blinds, to let some light in, and cracks the window open for some fresh air.

He grabs a couple changes of clothes from Harry’s drawers, shit he didn’t take with him in his haste before tour. He almost forgets his boxer briefs, which would’ve absolutely horrified Harry, to not have fresh ones. Harry also asked him to give the place a quick once-over, to check for any stray lube or cock rings, since his mother would be flying in the next morning to stay with him.

Zayn texts Harry that no, his filthy lifestyle isn’t evident to the naked eye, and all mothers are safe to enter.

And then he heads right back to the hospital, eyes burning he’s still so tired. He checks in again, gets a new Visitor’s Badge and heads towards Cheyenne’s room. He should’ve asked if she or Daya needed anything, and now he’s kicking himself. He tries to preemptively think of something they may need on the day a baby is born, but he comes up short.

He turns the corner to the waiting room and is surprised to see none other than Rachel and Evelyn Malik standing there in matching jeans and red, flowy blouses. Ev sees him first, as Rachel stands at a nearby nurse’s station to ask where to go.

Ev runs to him and leaps into his arms, as always.

“And what are you doing here?” he asks her, incredulously.

“We came to see you!” she says excitedly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Oh really?”

“I missed you and mommy said we should come find you then,” she nods. “She says if you miss someone, you should go see them. And love them.”

Rachel walks to him, gripping her purse in her hands, shrugging. She smiles and gets right up to his side, so he can hold Ev in one arm and hug Rach with the other. It’s nice, to have the Malik women close. It’s nice for Zayn and Rachel to be on such good terms, after the year they’ve had, and all the shitty years that came before it.

“Thought you said it might be weird,” he whispers to her, remembering their phone conversation from early that morning, when he woke her up out of a deep sleep to discuss the Harry Styles Situation. He told her what Harry said, about hearing his message, about how Ev’s words brought him back. He decided to stick around, to live this life, to be there.

And if Rachel was willing to let him in, to trust him, would it be okay if Zayn did as well? Could they adjust the routine a bit?

She seemed on the fence.

And then Zayn told her about the day after New Years, when Harry very seriously looked Zayn in the eye and said, “If you don’t make me leave, I won’t.”

Zayn doesn’t plan on asking Harry to leave. And he gets the feeling Harry won’t try to leave on his own. So really, Rachel didn’t have much of a choice. She was sort of stuck with Harry, too.

In the end, Rachel decided it was good. She told Zayn to be happy, to make Ev happy, and to never let a fight disrupt Ev’s world ever again. Zayn promised. No fighting or loud voices around Ev. It’s the rule. He promised to be a good dad, a good partner to her. She promised to give him a bit of a break, and to trust his instincts more.

And because Rachel Malik is a great fucking person, she brought Ev to the hospital. Because it would make Zayn happy, and Harry happy by extension. And hopefully Ev happy, once she had Harry in her sights.

Rachel glances around the waiting room, at the ridiculous situation they’re now in, before her eyes fall on Evelyn once more, still holding onto Zayn.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I still sort of think it’s weird.”

They snort in laughter together, as Evelyn looks at them, confused. It is weird to have his ex-wife and kid at the hospital, to see his boyfriend’s newborn baby. But Zayn’s been unprepared, behind, off-beat and misstepping his way through adulthood ever since he can remember. Why try to change it now?

Just then, Ev sees Harry over Zayn’s shoulder and gasps right into his ear. Zayn and Rachel turn around, to see Harry coming down the hallway with a pink balloon in one hand, his face in a massive grin. He holds his arms out.

“Harry! You’re home!” she screams, squirming out of Zayn’s arms.

“Toots! I am!” he screams back, disregarding the fact that they’re in a fucking hospital.

Ev runs to him, but doesn’t launch herself into his arms. Because Harry’s already on his knees, ready for her. They hug right there on the floor, two little peas in a pod, and Zayn feels that old familiar clench in his stomach. All is right with the world when he has Ev and Harry in the same room.

Harry kisses her face, says into her hair over and over that he missed her, he loves her, he’s so happy. He holds her tiny heart-shaped face between his gorilla hands and kisses her forehead.

Ev then very seriously leans back to hold Harry’s face between _her_ hands for a change, to tell him that he stinks.

They all snort with laughter, at Ev’s unwavering honestly.

Harry laughs loudest of all. He blows a few raspberries against her cheek, a quick tickle to her belly, and then he’s hauling her up off the floor to hold her.

“Toots, there’s someone here I would like you to meet,” Harry says to her, nodding. He quickly leans over and kisses Rachel on the cheek, to probably say hello and sorry all at once. Zayn wonders in that moment how many times they truly talked over the months, if their knowing looks are anything to go by. Those sneaky bastards.

Ev pulls at Harry’s hair a bit, even though it’s a bit greasy and tangled. She always did love to play with it. And now she uses it to get his attention.

“Meet who?”

“You’ll see.”

“Tell me.”

“Evelyn, have I told you lately how impatient you are?” Harry says to her, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

She giggles, her arms tighten around his neck, but still stares at him somewhat impatiently.

And then Harry leads them to Cheyenne’s room, where she seems to be expecting them. Or maybe she knew they’d be there eventually, ready to say hello, all of them finally meeting. Cheyenne, still tired and a bit frazzled from trying to breastfeed, greets Rachel like an old friend. She shakes Ev’s hand and tells her how pretty her pink nails are. Ev is immediately sold, of course, and looks like she wants to jump out of Harry's arms to crawl up next to her to ask about her curly hair.

But Harry walks her away from the bed.

Rachel gives Zayn a quick wink, and then sits near Cheyenne to ask how she’s doing. They start talking about colostrum, “nectar of the gods” or something, and how Cheyenne and the baby haven’t found a good rhythm yet. Cheyenne looks at Rachel with wide eyes, completely enraptured and grateful to have her there, as Rachel goes into her own “nipple latching” experience.

Zayn steps away from _that_ as quickly as he can.

Harry holds Ev over near the window, where Hannah is in her little plastic hospital bed. It’s more like a cart than anything else. She’s wrapped up, fast asleep, her pink hat now swapped for what looks like a homemade knitted purple one, with little ears sticking out on top.

Harry has a finger to his lips, and tells Ev they have to be extra quiet. Ev nods and leans down, looking at the baby in quiet awe. Zayn’s pretty sure she’s never seen a baby this small before. And she’s certainly never been to a hospital room either, where she has to be extra quiet.

“Evie, this is Hannah,” Harry whispers to her, still holding her up in one arm.

“She’s tiny,” Ev whispers in return, holding Harry’s neck.

“Very tiny.”

“I wanna hold her.”

“Not just yet, babe,” Zayn comes up next to them, also whispering. “She’s too small for you. How about Harry holds her and you sit close.”

“Okay,” she says, wiggling down.

Harry gently picks Hannah up and situates himself on the window seat, moving back so he’s fully against the glass. Zayn helps Ev up so she can sit next to him, their legs touching. And then Zayn steps away, to let them have their moment. Ev leans over and inspects the baby in Harry’s arms, like she’s trying to see where the on/off switch is. Like it’s one of her dolls.

“Hannah Gilmore Styles,” Harry tells her, while also effectively telling Zayn that they chose Cheyenne’s last name as their daughter’s middle name. Harry officially passed his last name on. How very Dad of him. It’s a solid choice, a very solid name. Zayn nods to Harry, for a job well done.

He glances at the baby bed, and smiles at the little pink card one of the nurses put there, to announce her. Her stats, which Harry will probably memorize. Hannah Gilmore Styles, born June 19th. Seven pounds, eight ounces. 21 inches long.

_Harry’s Harry’s Harry’s._

Zayn reaches out and smooths Ev’s hair, where it’s gone a little wonky near her ear.

“Hannah,” Ev repeats, lightly touching, just a brush of her fingers along Hannah’s arm. Zayn smiles and loves her all over again, for how gentle she can be. She’s a true Malik. He sort of wants to take a picture.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m her daddy. And Cheyenne is her mommy.”

Evie nods, like she understands.

“Hannah,” she repeats, quietly. She touches the baby’s arm again, to feel how soft she is.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, like he loves the sound of it.

Just as Zayn gets a worried look on his face, unsure if Ev understands that Harry has a daughter of his own now, to focus on. Another little girl to sing songs with someday.

But Evelyn is Rachel’s child then through and through, when she moves right past it. She’s so fucking smart. She asks Harry if she can kiss Hannah's hand, and Harry says she can kiss the baby anytime she wants, if she’s gentle.

So she does, repeating her name a few more times. Harry kisses Hannah’s fingers right after Ev, maybe for the first time, judging by the jump his face makes, like he’s going to fucking cry again.

“Hannah. That rhymes with ‘banana,’ you know,” Ev says, looking up at Harry’s face as innocently as humanly possible.

Harry looks to Ev and blinks, like he won’t cry after all. They stare at each other.

“I suppose it does.”

Ev nods.

Harry nods.

They both turn to look at the baby once more, hunched over like they can’t get enough. And okay fine, Zayn does take a picture. He can’t _not_. He gets his phone out and snaps a few, of Ev leaning her head on Harry’s bicep, Hannah in his arms. Ev whispers something to her, with a smile on her face, but Zayn can’t make it out. Little girls whisper to each other sometimes, and don’t necessarily need to be heard.

Harry kisses Evie’s head and tells her he can’t wait to bring Hannah home. Evie looks up at him, excited. Home. Harry’s home. Harry’s coming home, and he’s bringing this baby with him. She starts to open her mouth like she wants to squeal with delight, but then Harry mimics zipping his lips so Hannah doesn’t wake up. Evie follows along and does it, to match him.

_She’s happy._

_So am I._

_Maybe this will be her first memory._

Zayn makes sure the photos are nice and clear, since they’ll need them to look back on, years from now. Harry looks up to him a few seconds later and they lock eyes. They smile.

They’re a thing.

Again.

 

***

 

** July **

 

As Rachel comes around the kitchen island with her hands full of plastic cups wearing a pink party hat, she nudges Zayn’s arm. His party hat has gone all askew yet again, falling to one side. He blows the hair off his forehead and says thank you with his eyes, before righting it. It’s one of the turquoise hats, and it’s annoying like a motherfucker.

Ev asked for her party colors to be pink and turquoise, which once the streamers and balloons went up honestly made Rachel’s entire house look like a big bottle of antacid or Pepto-Bismol. But there’s no stopping Ev once she’s made up her mind. So Zayn spent two whole days getting it together, shopping for supplies, checking things off his list because his mother said to never go to the store without a list.

He lifts the monstrous cake Trisha and Harry made once she arrived in town the day before. She said wanted to bake in Zayn’s “new to her” kitchen, but Zayn’s pretty sure it was just an excuse to get to know Harry. Fair enough. Since Zayn’s all gay and in another serious relationship again, seems like it made sense for his parents to ask a few questions. _Do what you gotta do, mom._

He heads towards the open back door and tries to keep it as far away from his bare chest as possible, for fear of the “can I lick it off you later” jokes Harry could make under his breath at any given moment.

Not that Harry looks over at him, since he has Hannah in a Moby Wrap, strapped down to his bare chest over near the grill. He read somewhere that babies love skin-to-skin contact, that it brings a baby closer to the parent, so Zayn knows that even if the party theme didn’t require bathing suits, he’d still have a half-naked Harry on his hands. Cheyenne fusses next to him, standing on her toes to look at Hannah tucked in the wrap, handing over a wipe, and then a pacifier in case she needs it.

They’re two of the most overbearing people Zayn has ever had the displeasure of meeting, to be honest. They huddle together, whispering about the sun on her skin, whether they should stand more in the shade, if Cheyenne should take her somewhere quiet to see if she’s hungry. They’re overly protective, don’t talk about anything other than their baby, and get much too excited to discuss the current state and general well-being of Cheyenne’s nipples.

Just the _worst_ these days.

Zayn smiles though. It’s cute. He shouldn’t think of them as being the worst. It’s not at all true and it’s sort of adorable how they get all crazed and nervous whenever Hannah moves or shifts into an odd position. And now they have to get through the day, as first time parents at their first outdoor birthday party.

_Suckers._

Zayn laughs to himself, as Harry looks up at him and shrugs. They have a silent conversation right then and there, a quick back and forth. _Is it too sunny for her, relax Harry, but what if she burns, she’s white so you need to get used to it, shut up I hate you, I love you, I love you too._ Zayn moves closer to the picnic table Rachel’s parents graciously brought over, as two daisies from school run past him and almost knock him right over. They don’t even have a pool, so the whole theme is ridiculous, everyone walking around in their bathing suits for absolutely no reason in the sweltering July heat. It’s still so hilarious that of all things, Zayn Malik’s kid loves _water_ and the beach so much. She’ll admit snow is pretty and fun to play in, but she’s a summer girl at heart. He shakes his head.

Ev is happy today.

She squeals and runs past him, her fingers grazing along his swim trunks. Zayn yells after her to please not run, but it falls on deaf ears.

She doesn’t listen or in any way acknowledge him again until he’s calling her over, because it’s time to light the candles. She crawls up to sit at the head of the table and watches him with wide eyes. The cake is pink and purple, with star and moon details all over it. Zayn’s mom loves to bake, and she especially loves Ev, so this one is sure to be a real winner.

“It’s so pretty,” Ev says, actually curling her little hands under her chin to look at it longingly. “I love my cake.”

“What do you say,” Rachel whispers, coming to stand beside Zayn. She pulls at Ev’s hair, where it’s gone wild, and tries to smooth it down her back.

“Thank you for my cake, gramma!” she says across the patio, to where Trisha and Yaser stand.

“Alright everyone, let’s sing,” Zayn calls out, using his old lighter on the six white candles placed in the center.

They all begin to sing Happy Birthday to Evie, as she keeps her hands under her chin, suddenly bashful at all the attention. Evelyn, the little girl in the bright, flashy pink one piece, with a birthday crown on, and rubies in her ears, suddenly gets shy. So Zayn leans over her, to tickle her sides and blow a raspberry into her cheek. She giggles wildly, and slaps at his face.

They finish the song, right as Rachel leans down and whispers for Evie to make a wish. She screws up her face with all her might, like she used to when she wasn’t quite potty trained and needed to do her business over in corner so they wouldn’t watch.

And then her eyes fly open, her smile wide and bright. She blows out her candles as everyone applauds her. She asks for _two_ pieces of cake, because it’s her birthday, but Zayn tuts that one for now is good. Rachel, ever the busy bee, gets to work on cutting the cake and serving it to all the kids first, and then the adults. Zayn tries to help, but she waves him off. So he drifts over to his parents, to give them both huge hugs.

He whispers a quick thank you, especially, to Yaser. He ruffles Zayn’s hair and winks, like he knows.

A while later as the party begins to wind down, Zayn sidles up next to Harry in the kitchen. He leans against the counter, holding an arm underneath Hannah, even though she’s still in the tight sling strapping her to his body. He has his other hand holding one of those soothie pacifiers in her mouth, for Hannah to latch to. He whispers to her, like Zayn always used to do with Ev, and it’s still a beautiful fucking sight.

Zayn tried to explain it to Harry, once they were back in his apartment a week after Hannah was born, how exciting and important it was for him to see each and every time, Harry holding his kid. Because while Harry spent all those weeks freaking out over being a dad, Zayn spent them freaking out that Harry was the type of man to ignore his child. It was terrifying, to believe in his heart that Harry was that heartless.

“And then Cheyenne told me you wouldn’t stop calling her to talk about vitamins, and I felt better,” Zayn mused, draping himself over Harry’s back, ignoring the lube between his thighs. He kissed at the neck of the biggest little spoon he’s ever fucking seen and closed his eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure she was getting good blood flow to her uterus, Zayn,” Harry scoffed, pulling him even closer.

And now Zayn hooks his chin on Harry’s shoulder and watches him coddle his child. Harry lets him because he knows Zayn loves to watch.

They still have so much to figure out, so many big decisions to make. There just hasn’t been any time, with Hannah coming home from the hospital and Harry staying at Cheyenne’s most nights. The first few months are overwhelming, and Harry and Cheyenne need to find their rhythm. They end up calling Rachel most nights they spend together, which is wholly unfair because Zayn was there too, you know. He knows _some_ stuff.

Harry leveled him with a look and then promptly ignored him.

Harry now knows Rachel’s cell phone number by heart.

They haven’t talked about marriage or their long-term future goals. But it’s there, hovering off on the horizon: an eventual wedding, matching rings, Zayn on Harry’s insurance plan because it’s better by a mile. They’re absolutely together, a thing, their thing, to anyone who asks. Harry isn’t afraid to call Zayn his boyfriend, and Zayn already has the font planned for Hannah’s name on his opposite hand. Because he isn’t afraid of the reality of having another newborn around.

Second time’s a charm and all that.

Harry hasn’t converted the second bedroom of his apartment yet, and Zayn suspects it’s because it would be a massive waste of time: on the few nights Harry has had Hannah to himself so far, to let Cheyenne rest, he stays at Zayn’s. Same as always. He rocks Hannah in Ev’s old chair by the window, wearing Zayn’s shirt, with Ev close by in case Hannah needs a lullaby. Harry and Zayn swaddle her together, and Zayn shows Harry tricks to diapering quickly, how to warm her milk so it’s not too hot, that it’s best to kiss her when she’s asleep.

And really, they need their own place, with three bedrooms, so each of the girls can have their own. Because it’s only been just a few short weeks since Hannah’s birth, and Evie is already calling her “my sissy” to little old ladies in the grocery store.

That Evelyn Malik sure gets attached easily. She’s a lot like her father in that way. Zayn made sure to call Rachel to tell her that little tidbit, in case Rachel worried about the situation like she used to, back when Harry was a rolling stone without direction. Evelyn thinks she has a sissy now, and Rachel needs to know.

Rachel tells Zayn she doesn’t worry anymore.

She also tells Zayn that yes, he’ll need a bigger place, to accommodate “their girls.”

But that’s a whole other conversation for another day.

Today, it’s Ev’s birthday. It’s her day. She wanted a beach themed party, to more or less tell Harry to get a move on: they need to go crabbing before the season is over, out on a big boat in the ocean, with matching life vests. Harry promised they would, in August, because what Ev wants, Ev gets. And Zayn sort of loves that it’s something tangible for her to look forward to, instead of just her future professions and her “when I grow ups.” Kids need small things to look ahead towards too, fun goals, happy days. Good memories spent with important people.

And ever since Harry bolted into that hospital, ready to dry heave because he was so worried about missing the birth of his kid, he _always_ does what he says he’s going to do. Without fail.

Zayn reaches a finger up, to shift the pacifier a bit in Hannah’s mouth. He whispers _hi pumpkin baby_ , as her little hand touches his hand. He can’t wait for the day that she grabs for his thumb. He’s rocked her a few times in Ev’s chair, when Harry needed a shower or a quick nap, and he appreciates how much he fucking loves this little life they have around now. He finally feels good at the parenting thing, with Ev hanging off his neck one minute, and Hannah spitting up all over his favorite shirt the next.

_This is it._

“Yeah, well,” Zayn sighs, practically talking to himself. “This is it, then.”

“This is what?” Harry says, looking at Zayn’s face an inch from his own.

“The life you said you didn’t want,” he says simply. “Any regrets?”

Harry practically growls at him, for bringing up his past shit talking. He doesn’t like to remember his shortcomings before Hannah arrived, the cowardice, the fighting, the night he almost bolted when Evie called him daddy.

But then his face doesn’t something strange. He twists it a bit, like he’s thinking long and hard.

“You can’t breathe when you’re not with her,” he says, repeating something he said to Zayn in that parking lot. It must hit him how right it feels, to be completely overtaken by your love and affection for your child. He wouldn’t _want_ to breathe without her. It all sounds scary from the outside, but once you’re there, it’s sort of the best fucking feeling in the world.

“True,” Zayn nods, leaning down to kiss Hannah’s cheek. Just then Ev runs over and holds her hands up, so Zayn lifts her into his arms. It’s lovely when she doesn’t run and jump, and instead asks politely to be held. Soon she’ll be too big for it.

“Is she still sleeping?” Ev says like she’s disappointed. “She’s _always_ sleeping. I wanna _play_ with her, daddy.”

“She needs to rest, baby,” Zayn tells her, letting her peer over into the wrap. Hannah has her hands up near her squished face. “She needs to sleep a lot to grow big and strong, so she can run around the yard with you.”

“Fine,” Ev says, rolling her eyes.

“And what do you say to Harry? For the present he picked out?” Zayn says, tickling her armpit. It was from both of them, Harry made sure to tell her so, but even Evelyn could tell that it was really Harry’s idea.

She slaps Zayn’s kisses away, narrowly missing the baby against Harry’s chest with her tiny foot. He shifts away just in time and gives Ev a look. She gets bashful again and leans over, to sling an arm around Harry’s neck.

“I love my…” she looks to Zayn, who whispers the word in her ear, “aquarium. Thank you. You’re the best Harry in the whole world.”

“You’re welcome, toots,” Harry says, kissing her cheek. “We’ll have to name all your new fish. We’ll give them good names, I bet.”

“Great names!” she squeals, and then she’s hopping down to go run around with her friends. She runs past Cheyenne and Rachel, who sit close on the couch in the living room with their heads propped in their hands. They’re already such fast friends, close, with a strange kinship they should probably all be in therapy for.

Zayn is pulled out of the thought, when a finger tugs at his chin. He blinks and then focuses on Harry’s face, where he’s leaning in to kiss him.

“You are a good man, Zayn Malik,” Harry says against his lips. “In case I haven’t said so lately.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn mumbles into Harry’s mouth. “I’m the best. I know. How did you ever get so lucky?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, effortlessly vulnerable in that Harry-like way of his, his guts and insides practically laid out bare, his voice open and honest.

They stare at each other, as Hannah starts to squirm in Harry’s arms. She’s probably ready for another feeding, so they only have seconds before Cheyenne shows up to grab her. She’s good like that, at knowing when Hannah is hungry. It’s another woman magic trick the two men can never quite understand. It seems like whenever they have her, she’s already wailing at the top of her lungs before they can heat up the breast milk in the fridge. They never seem to do it fast enough.

But Zayn still isn’t perfect, and Harry is still learning, after all.

So before they get interrupted, Zayn kisses Harry again, a bit harder and more insistent, because Zayn is the lucky one.

Or maybe they both are. Maybe they all are. If they’ve all found themselves in this weird little family unit, woven together through sheer force of will to be so happy they burst with it, so be it. Zayn looks at Harry, and then around at all of the people in his old house, and he swears it’s not natural to be this content. If you had asked him a year ago if this was where he’d be for Ev’s sixth birthday, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Harry knocks their heads together a bit, as he shifts Hannah in his arms.

It’s good. They’re a real thing. And it’s good.

Cheyenne and Rachel make their way over, as Ev runs to grab their hands so they can swing her. The three of them have matching nail polish on, bless their hearts. Ev tells Cheyenne about how she’s so excited for her new aquarium and her fish tank, because she’s going to scuba dive in the Great Barrier Reef someday. And she wants to be able to tell _those_ fish all about her fish friends at home, and how nice she is.

And that’s when Zayn remembers something, with a smile.

The Great Barrier Reef puzzle is still on Zayn’s table back in his tiny kitchen, all of the blue pieces still in a massive pile, just waiting to be sorted. He’s never left a puzzle unfinished for this long before, not since he met Harry. They’ve just sort of walked around it, too busy with the baby and Ev (who says the puzzle is too hard) and figuring out their new routine. They eat in the living room, or on the floor, because Zayn is still an idiot who can’t clean up the way Rachel can.

But Zayn’s sure he and Harry will get to it when they get to it, eventually. When they can. Maybe they’ll work on it some peaceful night that they only want to spend together. Maybe they’ll be quiet, saving their chatter because they’re a couple of old grown ups now who don’t need to get drunk and whine about their exes or downfalls or past mistakes. Maybe it’ll be a night when their girls are off with their amazing mothers, living in their other houses, safe and sound.

Soon. They’ll work on it side by side and finish it together, piece by piece, whenever they can find a night to themselves.

They’ll figure it out.

They have time.

 

***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

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